They'll Burn Your Hearts Away
by frooit
Summary: ::missing chapters in progress:: A look into what might have happened during Cloud's time in the Shinra army. ::character death - mild zack/cloud::
1. one

**they'll burn your hearts away**  
_ff7 semi-au, cloud/zack  
by lil_neko_

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**1.**  
Day to day.

His life pretty much goes like this leading up to his time at Shinra. Leading up to the rumours of war and playing the part of one of those guys in a helmet, holding a gun, looking like every other guy standing next to him. Being that guy that took the full on force of every battle, that bit every bullet and took every blow. His blood will stain the cracking ground and his cries will ring out for miles. Might as well have been the wallpaper, or a toaster. Everywhere but unnoticed. Cloud grew up in Nibelheim. A small town, no bigger than a few houses and few families and a main square. It's situated on the path leading up the mountain to the reactor, the beating heart of the region. If not for that reactor (gleaming like a black tooth against the setting Sun, rotted out) they'd still be burning candles and heating their food over open fire. Still be a farm town scraping together corn and other produce and small game, living off of traveler's trade. But with all the conveniences it brought, many more troubles had come with it. Many deaths, and many things he'll never forget. Because he wasn't allowed. The universe saw fit to haunt him.

Day to day, at seven years old, he'd wake up and sigh. Deja vu all over again. These are the times he remembers best. He would always be standing by the water tower at noon (not really a tower, so much, just a suspended tub to keep the town's drinking supply). It'll creak in the wind, he'll kick rocks and play with his wooden soldiers. The two his father brought him while he was stationed in Midgar. Just before he died. Just before Cloud could remember his face or his voice. The way he might have smiled, might have frowned. Before Cloud could remember his favourite food or something he'd always been known to say. He was gone. Would he even have liked him? He doesn't know the answer even now. Even so they'd been sacred, revered, and he had rarely played with them. They usually stayed on their shelf above his bed, gleaming in the sunlight, soaking it up and drying out. He feared they would eventually shrivel to just sticks. All his half-memories of his father dead. He took his chances despite and there'd he be, alone, him and the wind and the dust swirling.

At seven he was a very inquisitive child, however well restrained. He doubted himself more than his curiosity could drive him so he never got in trouble. His mother called him timid, kind-hearted. Even so he'd follow the other children to the Shinra Mansion, or up a mountain path, or into the old inn. Until he'd be driven away. He hadn't resorted to playing alone because he chose to, he played alone because he was never accepted.

Somehow he missed that train and was lost. Cursed, cast out. There were five other children in town and only one of them wanted anything to do with him. It happened to be the only young girl in town, too (just his luck): Tifa. She was the loveliest person in all of Nibelheim, next to his mother. She always knew when to find him, where to find him, what to say. She would come up to his door, knock softly and converse politely with his mother. And she always had this cowboy hat on, fastened under the chin. They'd sit side by side and talk about SOLDIER, about cowboys, about the Shinra mansion, about the Mount Nibel pass. Kept special things between them and promised, with a cross of the heart, never to tell any other soul. Sometimes they'd get quiet and revel, almost meditate, on the other's company. Or at least Cloud had. He'd eat up every word she said, comatose to everything else. His holy shroud.

It hadn't taken long for the other kids to find out about their connection. And then he was truly the outsider, avoiding to even go outside. Afraid of even their laughing voices coming from outside. A boy named Ian Crowley lead the pack, lead the hate. Directed all his discontent and childish malice towards him. He'd called him names and pushed him down. There was always the one, wasn't there. That's what his mother said. _There's always one that won't agree with you. There's always that clash, my son. That's life._ His skinned elbows and knees spoke of it. Tifa would stand aside and watch, fists clenched whenever it happened. The clash. Ian's bulky frame would cast shadows over Cloud. His fat fingers gripped in the collar of his shirt. Face inches away. Voice high and raw. Lips just two little strips of red, bitten meat. And never once had he held that against her. She was friends with everyone. What had he been worth to lose everyone else?

"God, you're so creepy. Like one of those—"

In this flashback, Ian was interrupted. His looming red face turned away. Joey, the resident nerd had spoken, glasses thick as ice blocks and perched on the tip of his nose. This boy had spent most his time with his Grandmother, reading and writing notes for her. Listening to all her stories of the old times before the Power Electric Company and before Midgar. He hadn't disagreed with Cloud but he certainly never showed kindness either. His heart was bent more toward the academic than the sociable. What he really remembers most of that boy was what he had said that day.

"Albino. Transparent."

Cloud had flinched as the laughter started. As if they all knew what it meant and this was the best thing they'd heard all year. Ian's breath had wafted over him, and his fist shook him hard from side to side. Cloud's hair fell into his eyes and gleamed golden in the sunlight. His bane, you'd say. No other child was as blond as he was. Like rays of the Sun, strands of wheat or gold, flaxen, fairy-like. A neighbor lady had called him Sunbeam because of it. But that didn't bother him.

"Albino! Ugh. Like a ghost! You're almost see-through."

It wasn't the names. It was the indifference. He'd been tossed back, as if contagious, Ian theatrically rubbing his hands on his pants. He would flee, like he almost always did, before it turned into something worse. He'd be on the verge of tears. The want and need to sob burning his eyes and heating his face. He'd slam through his front door and climb into bed. His mother would ask, worried, but he'd never said. He'd keep it to himself. Gurgling like an upset stomach inside him. Like a cancer eating away. Everyday was the same. Day to day. You can climb only so high before you fall.

As they grew older Tifa soon talked to him less and less, and he yearned for something new other than his small town existence. His small town exile. So he decided, taking him weeks, and it tore at his insides. His mother regretted having told him about his father, and would cry when she thought he wouldn't hear. His nights filled with it. His father had been in SOLDIER. He'd fought in a war. All of Nibelheim was proud.

He managed to talk to Tifa much later, their legs hanging off the side of the water tower. Looking down only a few feet to their town. Houses and windows dark and silent. The sky had been pregnant with stars, looming so close, almost sneering at them. The moon bulging like a great eye, casting its grey veil everywhere. Cloud's hair so long at that point his mother had been tying it in the back. He remembers Tifa's face pale and distant in the night. It had been cold and rain was moving in. Signs were everywhere. So he told her. Almost disinterested in the statement. Trying to play it off. _I want to be in SOLDIER._ And she had said _isn't that hard? Won't you be fighting people? You have to train for hours, I heard. Without sleep. They make you emotionless, too. And Sephiroth. She'd grown quiet. He's 1ST Class, you know. The last level of SOLDIER._ And Cloud nodded. _I'm going to be 1ST Class._

_Just promise me. You'll come back. And you'll be my knight in shining armour._

So that decided it. His mother started pooling all the money she could from relatives and small jobs here and there. Baby sitting and bar tending in Kalm. And Cloud's heart sank still. _What if you fail. Where will you go? What happens then? What happens if you die?_ He refused to think of it until the day came, and it didn't come quickly. He's seventeen now. Seven years after he'd ever mentioned his plans. He's packed and standing in his house one last time, looking at his mother. He's grown taller, lanky and a little insecure but his eyes are as blue as gems. Hair as blond as ever. Sharp with resolve, cold with intent. He doesn't say goodbye to anyone else. Not even Tifa. It's not long before he's with the caravan to Midgar. They enter the city at night. Llights frightening and many, like thousands of eyes regarding.

It's bigger than he'd imagined anything, even the ocean, would be. A giant plate city of many levels, suspended on stilts in a way. Railroad tracks winding up the largest of these stilts, disappearing as they reached the upper plate and going in and out of tunnels. The money his mother gave him will cover the entrance fees, exams and a night in a room, so all he has to do is find his way to Shinra. He's told it's the central building in the city, you couldn't miss it. _They built this city around that tower, you know. I remember when it was just that and nothin' else. Could see for miles back then_. He doesn't waste time. No time to waste. The train takes him to the upper plates and he stays a night in a motel called something clever and so 'big city'. People crowding around and loud. The air filled with smoke and the smell of food. The smell of everyone's breath being recycled and sucked back in. The next morning he's starting his new life. The next morning he would see if he's cut out to be a SOLDIER.


	2. two

**they'll burn your hearts away**  
_ff7 semi-au, cloud/zack  
by lil_neko_

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**2.**  
He didn't sleep.

The good thing about Shinra is they're always looking for new prospects, new blood. They keep accepting new applicants all through the year. It was good on Cloud's part, but they did start charging twice as much for the exams, just for the right to be there. There's a line at the Admissions Offices (he had to ask at the Shinra Tower help desk where that even was—the women there were pretty and smiley, calling him _sweet heart_ and _dear_ and he blushed all the way out the door). Boys of all ages and backgrounds take up the sitting room, brooding with their parents or talking amongst each other. Some bright-eyed and daring, most sulking and wan. The man sitting behind the counter is bald, bearded and portly but he smiles a sly razor's edge as Cloud comes up. Not a nice smile, but Cloud responds with one of his own anyway. Wilted. The man's eyes are black and beady.

"You want to fill this out and sit down, son."

You were shit out of luck if you were thinking about joining Shinra because you wanted some extra change in your pockets. The first questions on the paper were as such: _check if you have the following, stop, 500 gil entrance fee, check, 100 gil exam fee, check, 75 gil physical exam, check_. He's left with seventeen, ironically. Shinra only paid you when you were expressly accepted, and the balding man said only if you're discharged during your first two weeks of duty can you get your entrance fee refunded. Cloud nodded and sat down. He had seen a printed acceptance form before. Not many in Nibelheim had. It had been his father's. It glinted with a gold and red seal, the paper as thick as leather. The president of Shrina's signature long and extravagant and looping. You had to prove yourself. Sweating and bleeding and crying, you'll have to claw your way out of the endless faces of boys who wanted to be SOLDIERs, just like you. No one told them then that most just turned up as names filed in a booklet. The largest volume in Shinra's digital library. The only word in bold next to their name was _deceased_. You've got to be the best.

The room is ominously lit and sterile (sconces hung high on the walls and shooting straight up to burst light off the steel plated ceilings). Subdued and all too bright at the same time. A giant Shinra Electric Cop. banner hangs over the counter. Crimson coloured. Swords locked in the center, edges sharp as a hair. He's noticed posters and banners were everywhere up here (not so much on the lower levels). They hang off the side of buildings, from rafters, are painted onto trash cans, engraved into manhole covers and plastered to shop windows. It's truly their empire. It gleams and festers at the same time.

Boys trickled out. One by one, they'll be called into offices deeper inside the building and Cloud wouldn't see them again. He started to wonder how far those hallways tunneled. Maybe they drilled into the ground itself, hiding a host of officers and operatives underneath. You could get lost. Who's to say he'd ever see the light of day again. Just as he's finished his form and handed it in (starting to grow uneasy of the desk man's lingering glances) a new boy comes in. There's a vivid scar leading down his face. It starts its trail from above his right eyebrow and jabs across his nose to finally dig into his left cheek. A single line. You couldn't help but look at him. Eyes downcast and sullen, hair a wild and warm brown, longish. He talks to Cloud's friend behind the counter (those beady, black eyes again, alight) and then sits down with a clipboard. Cloud right across from him.

Probably won't see him again so he figures starting a conversation is fruitless, but even so (if he could have opened his mouth), he's fascinated. Never seen anyone like him. He's taller than he is, long-legged. Built stronger in the upper body, chest wider, arms defined. Looking weather beaten even though he's dressed rather plainly. Jeans and a blueish, faded jumper. Bristly looking.

"Strife, Cloud."

And so his thoughts get cut short. As he stands, the scarred boy follows him with his eyes, gleaming and silver-blue. Like the sky on a cold night. The sky after a long drought. He'd like to know his name, where he's from, about his family, and his favourite song. A stranger's love. Something weird and unlike him (he'd always been pegged as sheepish and coy, whatever that means). As if to acknowledge his musings the boy says, _good luck_. Cloud halts, mumbles _thanks_ and goes on. The hallway is lit less here but much in the same way as the waiting room. Sconces every so many feet. The shaded patches in between giving chance enough for Cloud to close his eyes. Swallow the hunger for success, the fear of failure, the nervous energy. There are no doors or windows. Nothing distinctive. The smooth white seemed to go on forever, Shinra emblems smeared under every light. He couldn't help but shrink inside and swallow and swallow and swallow. Until his mouth was dry.

"Here we are, kid. Leave your stuff with me. You'll get it back later."

The man opens a door at the very end of the passage and gestures in with his arm.

PHY. EXAM ROOM 1. DR. LESTER. reads a plaque next to the nob.

"Just write your name down and take a seat."

Cloud obeys and then sits again, thinking, _I'll die a damned old man by the time I get anywhere_. But within minutes he's ushered off into a smaller room, the lights sharper and brighter and focused on a single spot. It was a table, cold and steel, covered with a thin sheet of paper. Glossed sheets hung from the ceiling to shield most of the room from his view. The woman in white who took him from the second waiting room tells him, quite enthusiastically, that this was the preliminary physical exam and the doctor will be in shortly, so remove your shirt and pants and sit. She pats the table. It crinkles. Cloud stares. Sure. He'd never been to a doctor before. Only just his mother spoon-feeding him soup or straining him ugly smelling herbs to drink, because the village people swore by them. He'd broken his arm when he was eleven, come to think of it, and they had set it inside a bandage with long, itchy reeds and thatches of grass. It had healed without a scar and the people said _see, see, we told you_. Cloud thought later: _purge the unbeliever_.

The doctor asks questions and Cloud gives answers he gets unfavourable responses to. Grumbling and prodding and a lifted eyebrow. The man is in his middle-ages, just starting to get crusty and forgetful. He asks many questions twice over. Namely: "You lived in Nibelheim?"

"Yes."

"Hmm."

And then he's moved again, reunited with his slightly lighter bag. Yet another portly man (because that's all they were really good for in Shinra, he guessed) behind a flatly metal topped counter. More curious stares and dubious glances and Shinra logos. Cloud's skin itches under his shirt, sweat having dried and rubbed salty residue onto his palms. He's beginning to feel tired of all this, but he isn't close to being burned out yet. He has to prove himself. To his mother, to his father, to Tifa and mostly to himself. It's been hours since he's last eaten, maybe that explained the headache. The steady throb, the pulsing beat. He leans over in his seat, until his face hangs above the floor and his chest presses into the tops of his thighs.

"Congratulations." The voice startles him, like a pinch.

"Cloud, right?" The man is handsome and broad; he's in a uniform.

"Welcome to Shinra's Infantry."

After that day Cloud takes life from moment to moment. Every smile an achievement.


	3. three

**they'll burn your hearts away**  
_ff7 semi-au, cloud/zack  
by lil_neko_

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**3.**  
You don't get a grand trumpet blaring down the isle as you walk into the barracks. You're just white-knuckling your issued clothes, boots, and paper work, trying to follow the officer as he leads you to your bunk. It wasn't at all what Cloud had expected, but he wasn't quite sure what he'd expected to begin with. All the rooms were bright grey and washed-out on the lower levels (perpetually bare). Shinra logos so prevalent you couldn't even find restroom signs. That stuffy lived-in smell wafting from open doors. Most of the those lead to places you weren't supposed to go and all the posted floor plans were just vine works of levels and rooms and headaches. This building comes off of the main Tower, honey-combed with only so many other Shinra subcompanies. You had your Weapons Research, Materia Compounding and the SOLDIER levels (he remembers that one: 6a thru 7a). The infantry barracks were on levels 12b, 12c, and 12d, the cafeteria on 13c. The facilities were somewhere inbetween there, and training rooms were all the way down on 10a. Central offices were back at the Tower. You had to start there if you wanted to get anywhere in here.

All this is written on one of the many papers they had handed to him as he came in. Shinra Infantry Code stated you aren't aloud to have cigarettes, razor blades, cell phones, hand-held radios, reading materials (denoted as Shinra propaganda, magazines, novels, etc.) and you aren't allowed to keep personal pictures. All cadets are required to drop off laundry in designated facilities. You are seen upon to keep your bunks in order. Violence is not tolerated. Report to your commanding officer if a situation worsens (denoted as hazing, molestation, etc). Repeat offenders will be subject to termination. It is a serious offence to visit undesignated living quarters.

"Right. Cloud, was it? You're in 12c, room, uhh... One moment—uh, fourteen. We don't allow..."

Cloud was listening and not. As they came off the lift he could hear voices, many, but he isn't expecting the wide open windows (tinted from the sun coming in) showing the city outside, blue and red and soft yellow lights coming through. A spectical. Potted plants and even trees are situated in areas around the floor, surrounded by cement walls and steel benches. There are hordes of boys in uniform confronting them. Bustling around in different shades of dress, different uniforms, different urgencies. Most of them held binders (Shinra motifs included), but there were a few just like him. Wide-eyed and dumbfounded, clutching their gear like a life line. It'll all be over soon. You've just begun.

"...no fraternizing..."

Cloud marveled. It was its own civilization.

"...sharing a room with other young men..."

There were many seasoned operatives walking through all this, he could tell. The ones who weren't falling over themselves to get to wherever they needed to be. The ones who wore silver and red instead of blue and grey and swore every now and then at passing boys, voices cold and clean.

"Be sure to read through your papers, there. Report to the infirmary offices for your final exam in morning. The other cadets can tell you the gist of it. Rise and shine at five A.M."

And then he was left alone to stand over his bunk and soak everything in.

"Newbie! You're kinda small. How old are you?"

Or so he thought. Been here two minutes and he's already racking up the points. His headache thrums just as his stomach growls. It's been a long day already and hiding from people wasn't going be an option anymore. Time to buck up, soldier.

"Seventeen."

"_Damn_. You _are_ small. My guess was fourteen, or something."

Cloud didn't know the age requirement, but thank God it was low enough. Shinra knew how to discriminate as any huge company did, but not when it came to gobbling up the youth.

"I-uh, get that a lot," he says and drops down to lie on his bunk, uniform and boots still in hand.

"Hey, let me get that for you." The boy's reaching for him before he can contest. He hadn't really taken a good look at him until now. Black, black hair and smooth blue eyes (deeper and darker than his own). He's quite a bit taller than Cloud, by a foot and a half maybe, and as tan as you'll see someone without being downright crispy. His arms lean and strong, mouth wide and impish. He puts Cloud's boots on the floor and throws his uniform and fatigues on top of a trunk at the foot of the bunk. The paper he flicks back at him.

"You look pale."

Cloud blinks.

"As in dead, half awake, sorry. Where are you from anyway?"

"Nibelheim."

"Oh! Small town boy, like me."

"Where are you from?" And that's possibly the furthest he's gotten in conversation with anyone he didn't absolutely have to talk to, other than Tifa. Of course. But it all seemed too good to be true. He's wary and weary, regarding the boy as he speaks. Always a smile touching his lips, tugging them all that much further into a grin. He's put an elbow on the edge of the mattress and is leaning there precariously, chin in his palm.

"_Gongaga_." And he practically beams. The smile breaking through the fingers over his lips.

"Oh."

"So what do they call you, besides Spike?"

Cloud doesn't respond for longer than was probably appropriate and insecurely scratches his head. He can sense the boy's wonder. Or maybe it was worry, trepidation. Whichever. He leaves him hanging, but the boy's eyes never divert.

"I'm Cloud," he finally says. The boy claps him on the shoulder and laughs.

A good sound. A nice sound.

"My name's Zack. Nice to meet you, Spike. I'm gonna be a SOLDIER one day."

You weren't supposed to be surprised. He looked like he could chew through bone and break a man's neck with just a stare and a cocky grin. Something so barbarian (and uncouth) about him, but charming. He didn't know much about Gongaga, but guessed he was a perfect example of its people. Propose finding a town filled with sun-kissed, ridiculously cheery people.

"Is that why everyone's here?"

"If they say otherwise, they're lying. Hah."

Cloud sighs and closes his eyes. It's not so bad, he guessed. If everyone was like Zack he'd have the time of his life, but he highly doubted that. He'd heard stories. He'd done some homework. Boys will be boys and the fights that would break out were near epic. You'd hear about them being sent back to their parents, missing teeth and patches of hair. They'd be walking on crutches or eating through a straw. And there were the instances that didn't even have to do with training or disagreements. Boys went missing, lost in action. AWOL, they called it. The villagers of Nibelheim had other ideas about that. _It's that damned Sephiroth. Temper like a phoenix on fire, I tell you. That's why boys are missing. They don't keep tabs on him enough._

Like he was a monster and had eaten them up. As much as they might have hailed the achievements of the Shinra Electric Power Company they had their doubts, their fears. Who didn't, Cloud supposed. So much power and influence. So many ideas and aspirations. Too much. But Cloud always jumped at the chance to hear about him. About Sephiroth. The shining star of SOLDIER. No one had bested him in all his years. No one dared try. Champion of the Wutai War. He supposes that's why he's here.

"Hey!"

It's Ian Crowley.

Cloud shrinks. The small room is wall to wall bunks, about seven beds in all or maybe more. And just to be fair of course, Crowley is sitting on the bunk across from his own (so it might be safe to assume he sleeps there). He hadn't heard much about him since his time at Nibel. His family had moved away a few years before Cloud left. Not that the other children ever stopped hazing him. Thought he'd heard the last of that wheezy voice, felt the last of his impending doom and gloom. His karma failed again. At the very least he hadn't noticed him yet. The bunk above giving enough cover.

"You're a hard man to find," Ian says.

Zack snorts and retorts with something Cloud doesn't even begin to catch. Zack's moving away and standing (disengaging, target lost). Meanwhile, Cloud's busy being one with the mattress. Becoming one with the threads and the springs. Trying to blend in with the off green blanket. He rolls over, facing an empty bunk, the paper crumpling to his chest, numbers and words he can just barely make out. He focuses on them (..._report to commanding officer if situation worsens_...), hoping that would give him more time. Could he slip under the radar completely? (..._Subject to termination_...) Cross your fingers, because here comes Zack.

"See you around, Cloud."

(..._Serious offense_...) And Cloud throws a concerned look over his shoulder, level, completely out of reflex. He catches the full gaze of Ian. Eyes glinting and cruel. You get a sense things. Of fires burning, foundations crumbling, the drifting hacks of death rattles. Things like that. It was telling him he had time now, sure, but it was coming. You'll be hurting later. When you least expect it, or when you wanted it the most. He's the damned bogey man.


	4. four

**they'll burn your hearts away**  
_ff7 semi-au, cloud/zack  
by lil_neko_

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**4.**  
Cloud dreams.

_He sees faces distorted because of his wasted mind, the curves and hollows of their cheeks and eyes twisting blackly. Teeth bare and snarling through lips split and peeling. The spaces around him are dark and weighted, cursed always to be printed with shadows criss-crossing crazy, lazy. The images of rafters and wires, like bones, holding a beast-city above. It flares into his retinas. The ocean gleams on a clear day and he might watch for a moment or turn away. Smells like things dying out and rusting up; they drift in and out on that stiff air. Midgar glows like a dead star._

He jumps awake. Breath caught deep in his throat, constricted. His back is slicked wet, the seam of his boxers clinging. It's his second week in the infantry and it's been a trip. He rubs the hair from his face, it lank and persistent to itch his eyes. He's only just started combat training, his rest minimal at best. Even so, he can't stop the dreaming. The nightmares. He'd never had them before. Another thing he's just going to have to live with.

The first class he had to pass, _absolutely_, or you're out on your ass, is what the boys called Reformation 101. A study on Shinra's history, a culmination of written tests and questionnaires, and several military films. It takes a week to pass. He just barely slipped by. Zack was largely to thank for that. The guy was a regular paragon of sometimes useful, but mostly useless, information. _Did you know a cow has four stomaches? Did you know that a whale ejaculates 400 gallons of sperm?_ Along those lines.

But he passed, and today (because he's sure it's early morning out there already, in the world) he continues his first critical step into being a deployed unit. Oh, training. Zack says its his favourite part of the day. He'd be in there before anyone else was even conscious enough to crawl out of bed, and beat the living day lights out of his training dummy. It was his because he called it Wedge and printed the name across its plastic red forehead in ink. _Wedge and I_, Zack would say, _have an appointment_. There were nine more dummies of the same kind lined at the back walls, but he only trained on that one. Nobody else even touched it. He'd been reprimanded for defacing Shinra property, but he said it was worth it. Little things like that Cloud learned to love about him.

And Ian had as of yet to do anything (sure, there was the hazing, the mocking, the sneering, but no public humiliations or pummeling). He was beginning to think he might not have problems, but soon figured if he let his guard down he'd get screwed. If it happened before it'll happen again, and all that. He breathes and sits up, taking the moment to recall his dream.

"You awake?"

The voice is a beacon in the darkness of the room.

"Uh..."

_Death, burning, slipping, gripping, fingers cracking and dripping blood down to the elbows. He's sore with it. Drowning, drowning, drowning. There's nothing like a hero. Nothing quite like tasting steely blood wet on his tongue because a sword's run through his gut, inches and inches deeper. He feels it might twist any moment. Would have filleted his insides. Eyes stare, filling him with a sick pain. The shifting violent green, the hate. He feels he adored him. He feels he gave him something to strive for. He feels he loved him._

"Yeah." Dizzy. The dream flashing in and out like lightning strikes. Gone but not forgotten.

"You alright?"

"I guess. What are you doing?"

"Nothing. Follow me."

As if that didn't just give him away. Cloud blinks and blinks but his eyes were slow in adjusting to light. He swings his hand out and Zack catches it, as if he was going to give him a handshake. His grip gobbling up Cloud's own. It's warm and solid and weirdly comforting. Cloud demolishes the thought and hoists himself up. Zack however doesn't break the connection, he instead leads him by the hand out of the room. As if he were a child, or something. He feels somehow guilty for thinking so much of it. His friend clearly wasn't.

"What—"

"Shh." Zack twists his arm a little.

Cloud makes an O for _ow_ with his mouth, noiseless. The lift down the hallway to their left dings. A man gets out. He checks his watch and goes into one of the rooms. The rooms they weren't allowed in. He'd been wearing a suit, rather than a uniform, and his hair was combed back. Curiouser and curiouser. Zack looks behind to stare him in the face, just breaths away really. He can smell smoke and something sweet there.

"Alright. Be quiet or I'm never taking you again. Probably."

Cloud smiles. There's one for the picture books, but he did it to the back of Zack's ruffled head as he turned away. They head down the hallway toward the lift, ducking all the way, as if that would help them from being seen. How not to be seen: don't stand up. Inside, Zack lets go of his hand. Moist. Cloud wipes it against his boxers, and only then does he realize he's half naked. Karma again. Had he been a serial killer in a past life? They go down a couple floors, stopping on 10a. This level and all its subsidiaries are for training and physical testing of cadets. The doors ding, they slide open and Zack's gone already. No more ducking for him, this was his sanctuary. He flips the lights on and they flicker and hum. Regimens of them marching down, coming alight in sequence. They gleam off the sparring mats and glint off the equipment, blinding Cloud. The room is massive.

"Come on and spar me, Spike. Let's see what you've got."

He could have balked, he could have shaken his head, but he doesn't. He keeps his arms crossed over his chest and just looks at him. Zack bounces on his feet, eager. His smile just hanging there. If he was going to fight anyone he really didn't want it to be Zack. Rumours again. He didn't believe most of them, but. Zack's been here for several months now. He's been in extensive training for weeks. He's begun to lose his bronzed look, grow more pale, willowy. Was no weaker for it though, just the exchange of being outside all day to being inside all day.

"I'll give you my shirt."

Cloud doesn't respond.

"I'll go easy on you. Come on."

"Aren't there cameras down here, Zack?"

"Yeah, no problem. I've seen the surveillance room and cameras shoot everything but this corner. Don't worry about the lights either. It's cool. Now come on, I'll give you a present."

He would have given in anyway, but it was the wiggling eyebrows that sealed the deal. Zack shoves his shirt over his head. Cloud sputters and pulls it down over his bare white chest. It's a bit bigger than he would have liked, but beggars can't be choosers. His mother's words again. You wouldn't believe how disarming that can be. He'll always have her in thoughts, at least. Zack takes a defensive stance across from him, wiggling his fingers and toes this time, face smiling. He's built like a fighter. Cloud uses his observation as a peeping tool. Lean, not too bulky, just muscle and wiry strength. His beauty intimidating. At this point, Cloud doesn't know very much (if anything at all) about hand to hand combat. Suspected he wouldn't be very good at it. Give him a gun or a sword any day. He mimics the hands out position, fists close to his face. Zack nods, eyes a'sparkle.

"I'd hate to see what you think is a present," Cloud offers. And then Zack strikes.

The blow lands, blocked, on Cloud's outstretched wrist. A twinging pain wracks up his arm, but he doesn't have time to flinch because he's flat out on his ass the next moment. Had a sweep kick take his legs out. He frowns, indignant (and maybe a little embarrassed), but stands again and retakes his defensive stance. Eyes narrow down. The sleeve of Zack's shirt hanging low on his arm. Okay. One point for Zack. He gestures then for Cloud to come at him. This would be the time for balking.

"I thought you were going easy on me."

"Have to be ready for anything, Spike."

He's never been one to just _go for it, balls out, pissing in the wind_. He always waited and waited and then went. Until the time was right and he was almost sure he could get the upper hand. He wants to put Zack on his ass. Just run and mow him down, body check, all the weight of his mass knocking the wind from out of his lungs. Or maybe just bruise him up. Pipe dreams, maybe. They spar until the analog clock hanging on the training room wall reads 4:13AM. Final score: Zack eleven, Cloud four. He'd managed to get Zack down but couldn't quite keep him there. The headlock had been his best bet every time. Zack was a predictable creature but still too strong for Cloud. They flop down on the mats and breathe, and breathe. Cloud's exhausted now and sore. A lovely bright bruise crawls up the side of his ribs and several smaller ones track down his back. Zack runs his fingers through his hair, wheezing, and ties it up with a thick string. Cloud thinks he might have split his lip and tongues it.

That's when Zack looks up. His face changes, this air of _eureka_. Cloud gets dubious, of course, and just watches, letting his lungs relax and his muscles unwind. He's tight as a bow. Zack pulls a small carton out of his fatigue's pocket. It's white and red and yellow and has a Chocobo on the cover. A sort of bulls eye symbol behind it. Cigarettes.

"That's right," Zack mocks, "you've fallen in with the wrong crowd." He laughs and puts one of the things in his mouth. It's white all the way down to its red filter. He sets flame to the one end with a lighter and puffs blue smoke into the air above Cloud's head. It swirls and dances and dissipates.

"Wanna try?"

Cloud regards it with a sullen face.

"Here, come here." He motions as he takes another drag. Cloud inches over, wondering. Zack opens his mouth and points to Cloud's. Without thinking Cloud does the same, lips parting, _ahh_, and waits. Zack leans over and puts his mouth over Cloud's, hand cupping the back of his neck. The smoke gets lost between them. It whirls into Cloud's mouth and out the sides that aren't sealed by smooth, warm lips. He jerks away and sits back. There's no telling what kind of look he has on his face, but he's feeling a flush run through his skin.

"You're actually supposed to suck in the smoke from my mouth, but that was okay, too."

"Oh." Feeble.

He licks at his lips and looks away. Thinks he might want to ask to try again but doesn't. Instead he sits there and lets Zack smoke and blow rings. He doesn't have to say anything though, Zack gestures again but doesn't wait for him to come closer. He goes to him. Their lips meet closed this time. Zack kinda smiles against them there and then starts to poke the tip of his tongue through. Cloud 's body tremors, but the hand that comes up to hold his face stays him. Zack uses his tongue to open his mouth, just barely sliding against lip. He blows the smoke inside and this time Cloud sucks it in slowly. As he holds his breath its more of a kiss, pressed. They don't move for a long moment.

They get back to their bunks about fifteen minutes later. He falls asleep in Zack's shirt and wakes up ten minutes passed role call. Zack isn't anywhere to be found, just the boys in a line and Cloud getting hounded as he walks in. He goes to stand with the rest. He's counseled there on the spot. _We do not tolerate_... He's petrified, hanging his head lower and lower, fists at his sides, until he feels like throwing up or weeping. Or both. The age old 'three strikes and you're out' is not implemented. He's put on probation until further notice. Not allowed to roam freely after classes and having to report to a commanding officer before even going to one. Ian's face is a toothy smirk when they're dismissed.

He never thought he'd feel so bad when someone was trying to apologize to him. Zack had been off on a training mission with a couple of the older cadets. A recon. So close to being deployed on real missions he could taste it. His face is unusually unnerved and ridiculously sincere after he hears about what happened. He isn't going to leave Cloud alone until they have an agreement. _I'll make it up to you_, Zack says simply and Cloud shrugs.

He did though. A day later, down at combat training. Cloud's still on probation and the boys are still giving him shit for it. He's paired to spar with Ian. As if his superiors didn't know about their dislike of each other. They knew all the ways to play them, all the sob stories about childhood, all their weaknesses. If this wasn't going to teach him a lesson about being late, nothing short of a face-to-face meeting with Sephiroth himself would. He doesn't have to say he's displeased or nervous. It's for everyone to see. He's called meek and emotional here. You can see the gleeful expectance on their faces, ready to become satisfied. Hungry for blood.

_He's gonna get squashed_, one of them says.

Cloud takes his stance. Zack and his instructor's advice rolls around somewhere in his head, but he can't focus. Can't put it together fast enough, because Ian's already coming at him. Those same haunting eyes, that same vulture's stare. He freezes and takes a fist right to his face. Blood splats the tan mat as he's falling back to the floor. But Ian's not done yet, he leans down as he lies there and yanks him up by the shirt, ready to knock him out, push his teeth inward. Fist cocked. The pleasure he has is palpable. Cloud puts an arm out and turns his head away to spit, face beginning to agonize and throb and throb. His blood just pouring out, making a mess. Before anything could progress though, Zack comes out of nowhere—as if out of whimsy, as if out of boredom—and breaks Ian's arm. Not that they knew at that moment, but he really does. One swift grab and a pull upward along his spine, _crack_. Cloud thuds back to the mat at the same moment Ian crumples. Ian wails and screams, kicking his feet in this lock-kneed jolt. Zack shakes his hand out. He's standing over the both of them, crooked smile pointed at no one in particular. Everyone is in the same state of disbelief.

Zack's put on probation. He says they're even.


	5. five

**they'll burn your hearts away**  
_ff7 semi-au, cloud/zack  
by lilnee_

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**5.**  
They put Cloud in the infirmary with the possibility of a broken nose. It's dribbling into the shirt held up to his face as they walk. Nearly the whole of the white fabric shaded deep red and wet. His hips and belly a shocking contrast to the colour. Like an old Greek statue. Vivid. Zack isn't allowed to follow. He protests and curses and shakes a fist, angry. Like a wild cat. A man in a black suit, who'd shown up sometime after, shoves him back and shakes his head. _No_. Cloud later finds out they're called the _Turks_ and did less honorable things for Shinra (things they didn't really want anyone to know about). Call them a secret police. They'll come after you if they have to, destroy your life, and then go home. Simple and ruthless. There's a youngish boy and girl with the other two men. Same black suits. The boy's hair the reddest thing you'd see next to the rivulets of blood still staining the mat beyond them. He turns to Cloud with a dismissive look. An almost pitying look.

Cloud lays on a cot, swallowing the blood that flows down his throat in slow molasses-like intervals. They tell him to keep his head back, but after a few minutes he feels so dizzy and has to lean forward. It hasn't stopped bleeding and the minutes keep ticking by. They told him he was lucky it hadn't broken. Just _nicked_ it, they said, most of the damage landed on his cheek bone and that's where he hurts the most. Who ever heard of someone dying from a broken nose. The thought is amusing enough that he doesn't think about how sick his stomach feels or the swollen stretch the whole right side of his face has taken on.

He's moved to a different room and given a plastic bag filled with chunks of ice after the doctor sees him. He had whistled and given Cloud this _look_. He's been getting that one so much lately. Pity. Concern. Disdain. A concoction of shitty feelings. The room he's moved to is removed from the main infirmary area and is lit like a closet. Darkly. The shades are pulled. Red dots of light flash on and off through the thin lines, painting his face. Ice cooled water draws a line down his throat and into the collar of his new shirt. He feels very much like sulking.

They put Ian in the room next to him. His arm bundled up. It was a clean break and the doctor's tell him a week at tops. Cloud could hear this. They give Crowley drugs and strong medicines and leave. Broken bones are no longer a set back for Shinra. When he's allowed to go back to his room Zack's on his bunk, arms crossed at the back of his head, legs crossed at his ankles. They're many bunks apart from each other, but he still looks. His eyes are closed, his breathing even. He could be sleeping. So Cloud climbs into bed, over the sheets, and closes his eyes too.

.

.

It's just over a week later when Zack really has the time to talk to Cloud again (really _talk_; not just a _hey_, or a pat on the back, or a smile as they walk passed each other in the corridors, or as they watch each other spar, fierce pride). Everyone is busy and taxed, with the war going on in Wutai again. Not that it ever really stopped, but Shinra was advancing against the remaining resistance there. Sephiroth roaming the Wutai forests. Cloud is enthralled and petrified. He heard that cadets as new as a week were sometimes thrown out there. You'd just have gotten used to the schedule and classrooms, the tight belt on your uniform and your uncomfortable boots, then you're holding a gun and looking through the black visor of a combat helmet. Knowing nothing at all about what you were doing. The thought didn't sit well. In fact, that's what Zack is talking to him about. Cloud listens as he shines his boots.

"I'm asking to be deployed."

And it's the most hurtful thing he thinks anyone has ever said to him. He doesn't say anything for a long time. He's looking at the back of his hands, the smudge of polish. As soon as he's found someone they're pulling away. He stretches the silence to its breaking point. Zack finally just sits down next to him, puts his hands flat on the mattress. He puts his carton of cigarettes, lighter set on top, next to the lid of Cloud's shoe polish. He says, _hey_, slowly, thoughtful, _you'll be fine_. But it isn't so much the factor of himself. Sure, what was he going to do if Ian tries to pull something again, but how different is that from being on the battle field? Hunted. Terrorized. He didn't want to say it, so he doesn't (but he doesn't want to think it either, so how does that work?). He swallows the bad taste in his mouth and puts the rag he'd been using over the carton. _Hide it away_, Zack's look says, following the movement and then trailing it up to his face. He's looking at the faded dark bruise on his cheek. Complexion ruined. Cloud keeps the stare, changes it. _What if you don't come back?_

"Don't give me that face."

"Sorry."

"Geez, you're a real bummer sometimes, you know."

He can feel himself getting defensive.

"I'm not leaving today, and probably not even tomorrow. Don't get any ideas. I'll want those back."

He points to where the cigarettes would be. Cloud's thoughts lead him to the night before his probation. The reason _why_ he was put on probation to begin with. He flushes despite himself, looking away from Zack and hanging his head so his bangs cut his face from view, hiding the bruise. He'd been thinking about that night a lot. Intimate. Warm. Kind. He'd been thinking about Zack a lot. About what that even meant and why it had happened. It's driving him crazy, to tell the truth. _Why, why, why_. Zack leans over, closer. Everyone's out, at a class, so the movement doesn't startle him as much as it might. The two of them are on some sort of last minute house arrest, not aloud to leave their room. Outright disobedience will not be tolerated.

Zack disobeyed just by coming over here and talking to him. What this punishment really means is that they couldn't think of anything to do with them while the shit hits the fan in Wutai. Couldn't spare any people to grind their faces into the dirt while so many recruits are dying. That's why Zack suspects his chances are better now than ever. But he doesn't talk anymore about that. He shakes Cloud, violently and suddenly. As a bit of a joke. It doesn't quite have the effect he was hoping for. Cloud jerks away and continues to polish his boots, hair jagged in the way it hangs across his cheeks. He tells him, _it's okay_. And Zack shrugs.

"Alright. Just wanted to let you know." He gives him one last shove as he leaves, Cloud not moving but watching him as he goes. The silence after that is very large in his ears. He didn't have anything to do after that but finish his boots. No classes to go to, no training to focus on. No chance to clear his head. Instead the message for lunch runs and they both leave. Cloud puts the cigarettes in his pocket. It turns out they're both deployed the next day.

.

.

They have a crash course on gun safety. All the cadets are lined up in the hangars. No time to train them separately by squad, so they're broken up into three groups. Cloud and Ian (his arm mostly healed, the doctors' pleased with their skills) on infantry along with most of their facility. There are six lieutenant commanders and ten lieutenants. Zack is one of those lieutenants. The way he stands there, stiff and proud. It fills Cloud's heart with something he wasn't quite used to. The instructor demonstrates on a gun that is very much like the one in their hands. He's pointing out the safety, the trigger, the clip and proper methods of reloading. _Your uniform is equip to hold six extra magazines without weighing you down. They're distributed around your waist, here._ And he goes on. They're rushing it, you can tell. Boys, accomplished enough to be out there first (SOLDIER 3rd class and all), are already dying outside. You're the last resort. _Your helmet is equip to handle most blunt force damage. It is not fortified to stop a bullet, so keep your head down._ Cloud's fingers are sweaty inside his gloves (they're fingerless but still so foreign), his eyes stinging inside his helmet. They're all in full uniform: body armour, helmet, gloves, utilities belt, and the signature tan scarf around his throat (lieutenants wearing red). He's pulled his higher than the other boys, hiding his grinding teeth.

"Keep together. All targets are hostile."

They're transported by vehicle and helicopter. Wutai a red, green and orange landscape below them. They didn't tell them how the Wutai soldiers fought or what the object was. That's the thing you would normally be training weeks to combat against and to learn (the object was to protect Shinra's honor, he knew that much). You'd be training with swords and guns and how to disable a target in one move. Spending hours, literally, studying bestiaries and terrain. This isn't just a point and shoot operation. The chopper dips and shudders, hits the ground with a shake. The doors slide open and they're being yelled at to _go, go, go_. Cloud jumps out, gun infront of him, and covers the boys who follow. Ian Crowley reaches the opening, helmet tipped back so more of his face shows. He points his gun in Cloud's face and grins as he jumps down. It's nearly dark as they move. Cloud stares coldly through his helmet. They're lead into the forest, to the outpost there. The walls of the Wutai village tall and lit by torches, stone shining a muddled yellow. They are several yards away, maybe, huddled and hidden in the darkness. Listening to the whispers of their lieutenant commanders. Cloud notices Zack up there.

He looks intense. Hands folded over the butt of his sword. That's what he'd heard the rumours about. He's never seen him use it though. It's a very large sword, the blade wider width wise than it was thick. The handle about three times as long as it would be on a normal sword. Looked like you could chop a tree down with it. And that's why Zack was a lieutenant in such a short time, he figured. The sword weighed a ton. Many of the boys, including Ian, couldn't even lift it. Zack could lug it over his shoulder. Hero worship. He was up there because everyone loved him.

They move out after another briefing, about as lucrative and informative as the drill in the hangar. _Just follow the man in front of you. Shoot first, ask questions later._ It's about all they can say before they're rushing in, the main gates hanging open. Broken down. Commanders yell and yell but the sudden snapping gun fire is too thick around their ears. Cloud's small unit breaks up and hides. Panic. There's a scream close to him and he turns, trigger finger slipping. A boy across from him falls, legs buckling as he goes down. The boy's helmet slips off, eyes nearly a clear white surface, wide. Blood is gushing from under his hands. The hands gripping his throat, desperate and shaking. Gun fire. A bullet. It happened too fast for Cloud to think. He's being pulled to the side as the next spray goes off. Automatic fire. They chew holes into the wall he'd just been standing in front of. He falls to the side, sprawling on the ground. He doesn't know who pulled him down, he can't see their face.

Bodies lay around them, some writhing, some still. The other boy's putting his finger over his mouth, _shh_. Cloud stays still, his gun somewhere underneath him. He's breathing heavily, trying to calm his heart. This isn't what he was expecting at all. A voice comes again, high and loud, it carries over the other noises. The whizzing bullets and the clanging of swords. They were told the Wutai would have swords. _Just pull the trigger_ was their ingenious response. Like it was magic. The ground shakes under him. Something explodes. _Sephiroth_. That's what they were saying. _It's Sephiroth_. He turns over, rolls to the side. He lugs his gun out and slowly stands up. The area around them has calmed down, the rest of the squad was moving further inside the city. The air is thick with smoke. The boy that saved him tags along behind. They start moving forward.

He doesn't like this at all. But he didn't really have the luxury of thinking it too long. A figure jumps down from a landing above, spotting them as it moves. The sword it carries is more like a pike. A long wooden handle, as long as a staff, tipped with a double-headed blade. It looks angry and drips with what could only be blood. His finger doesn't slip this time. Cloud steps his foot out, levels his gun to his eye, and fires. The snap and recoil a surprise. The figure sways and falls back. The boy next to him breathes deeply. A wooshing sound from inside his helmet. _Good shot_, he says, so low. So low but something close by hears it nonetheless. There's a rustle and a growl.

Cloud doesn't detect the direction its coming from in time and is caught off guard. He's knocked to the ground again, hard. Something having leapt onto him, from head on. Something black and sleek, like a cat. It's behind him now, having jumped over. He hadn't dropped his gun atleast and tries to spot it, sitting up. His side screams at him. It feels shredded and warm. No time, no time. Pull the trigger. The spray catches it as it comes up again, claws reaching out for the other boy (dumbfounded, arms up, gun hanging at his side). He can't stop it. It throws the boy down, biting, snarling. Crunch. His and Cloud's screams split the air.


	6. six

**they'll burn your hearts away**  
_ff7 semi-au, cloud/zack  
by lilnee_

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**6.**  
_No!_

It's coming after him now. Slowly. Savoring. His gun's jammed. The trigger sticking as he pulls it. _Dammit, dammit._ He couldn't stand if he wanted to. The rubble he's fallen on jagged and slippery, his boots refusing to find purchase. _That's it_. It comes to his brain like an alien thought. The defeated and resigned slump. It's eyes glow and blink. Injected with a hazy red. _Just don't let it hurt too much_. The glint is a surprise. The glint of metal. It reflects the fire light beyond, coming down like a meteor from the sky, slicing into the neck of the beast. It's head releases from its shoulders, spinning to the ground. The swirl of blood catches on the visor of Cloud's helmet and his chest. The severed head rolls and stops, a long tongue lolling from its mouth.

It's Zack. Sword dug into the ground from where he'd brought it down. He looks exhausted, breathing and breathing and then looks straight to Cloud. He chose not to wear a helmet. His hair's plastered down to his scalp with sweat and all else: dirt, blood. The bulk of his lieutenants' scarf has come loose, flapping in the wind. Yeah, hero worship. Cloud's swallowed up by the moment. It isn't envy he's feeling, he thinks this must be _want_.

"Hey, you okay?"

He pulls his sword from the soil, throws it over one shoulder and comes to him. He helps him stand. The tear at Cloud's side sends him bending double though. He's bleeding. He can feel it through his fingers, touching warm at the tips. Zack notices this and puts his arm out to help him steady. Standing, Cloud can see the remains of the boy. Throat in shreds. He cringes but doesn't look away. He has to know. He drops down on his knees beside the body, Zack reaching for him, but not in time. Cloud touches the shoulder as he crouches over to peel the helmet from the face. He thinks he might have gasped or whined, some pained noise. Something as dismal and small as he was. This boy who saved his life, and it was Ian. Zack yanks him up then, moving, grumbling come on, come on. They move to the walls, sliding along, Cloud stumbling, the adrenaline ebbing away. He feels weak and tired, drained. The muzzle of his gun falling lower and lower as he holds it. He's pretty sure Zack has no idea who he is. All the same in this outfit. Just another guy struggling not to die.

"I'm taking you back to the base," Zack says. "Sephiroth's taken the stronghold."

Cloud nods, weakly. He can barely focus. _Just don't fall, don't fall_. It doesn't help. He's on his knees again, hands flat out in the wet dirt. A boy's gaping mouth quivers as he sits there. Death all around. Heaps and heaps of it. His squad is laid out before him, in the rubble and the rocks and the dropped swords. Bullet shells, rifles, he even sees a severed finger. It's just sitting in the dust there. Alone. Zack comes back to him, crouches to the ground. He knows he's hurt, but he doesn't know the extent of it. Who knows what that creature's done to him. What if he's poisoned or bleeding out, the cuts so deep there's no time to get back.

"I can't see," Cloud says, and Zack removes his helmet. He doesn't like the feeling he gets then, as he leans back against the wall and gasps. There's the realization, the hissed swear. Zack's face is sick with relief, tire, worry, eyes too wide and not like him at all. It's a heightened sense of things. He feels like he's slipping in and out but can see Zack so clearly. The ocean blue eyes, bristling black hair. The smeared soot and dirt on his forehead, over his cheeks. He's baring his teeth, looking down at Cloud's wounds. One hand grips his sword, the other hand is on Cloud's arm, comfort, connection. Cloud doesn't want to look. He can feel his nose bleeding again. The taste of it in his mouth, coppery and hot. He rolls his head back and passes out. The world doesn't speak to him for a while.

.

.

Cloud comes to in a tent. The light coming through the open flap very white and glaring. He can hear trees and birds and the scuffle of feet, voices not too far off. He sits up too quickly and gets the pull at his guts. There are white bandages all up his middle, crossing and crossing again, wrapped tight. As if they were holding his insides where they were. He's not alone. There's a body on the cot across from him, another to his side. They're slumped there, heads to the side, mummied up in white gauze. He doesn't know whether they're alive or dead. A bowl of water, pinkish and foggy, sits next to him on a crate. There's scalpels and tweezers and waxy looking thread there too. The infirmary. Ah, his favourite haunt.

"Lieutenant?"

"The surrounding area's clear, sir. A small group fled into the forest, east of here."

The voice is familiar.

"Casualties?"

There's no response.

"What's your business here?"

"To see a friend, sir."

"Dismissed."

The tent flap lifts open wider as a figure walks in. Stream of white light. Super flare. It's Zack again. He looks solemn, tired, but he perks up when he sees Cloud awake. His scarf removed, his hair smoothed down with water. He's cleaned up. His face is smooth and pale. Contrast to contrast: his terribly red lips, his terribly dark eyes.

"It lives and breathes."

Cloud shifts, winces.

"Take it easy," Zack says. Hint of a crease in that brow, hint of the same worry. He comes up to him, ruffles his hair. The interaction would look normal from the outside, but it feels like something different. _What is this really?_ Cloud sinks a little inside, can feel himself pulling away. He's nowhere near Zack's fighting level. It was obvious, but now it's dug in, and dug in deep. Doesn't know if _this_ is envy or something else, but it's rolling around in his guts. Ugly. Feeding his doubts and his self deprecation. There's a fresh cut, two actually, crossing just below Zack's eye. It makes a sort of an X or a sideways plus sign. He looks all the more barbaric now. Brutal, capable. Awing.

"You like it?" Zack feels his face, gloved fingers ghosting over the lines. "I think it's pretty cool."

Cloud lowers his eyes.

"How's Spike doing?"

"Tired."

There's a theatrical _oh_ that comes to Zack's face, like a light bulb going off, but the moment passes quickly. His hand never left Cloud's hair and it beings to move now, but not the quick riffle as before, it's more of a bastardized caress. He's like a cave man with it, clumsy, trying to keep it as clinical and friendly as possible. The moment's strained. He can't help himself though, his fingers start to go liquid and massage, pressing and soothing that ugly feeling out of Cloud's belly. He's tilting his head into it, wanting that warmth. Wanting that _love_, he guessed. Zack had said his greatest weakness was his big heart. It had sounded so sappy at the time, they'd laughed, but it's true. Here's this boy, and he really was just a boy, trying to look out for his friend. The strong protecting the weak. Cloud's never felt more weak. Zack's hand slides down the side of his face and rests on his collar bone, fingers spread out in a fan shape. Cloud lets it there.

"Get some sleep," Zack whispers.

And then he's gone. There's a strange look in his eye as he leaves.

Cloud sleeps. It's by another dream he's awoken.

_He stands at the edge of a cliff. A long expanse of desert rolls out below him, jutting rocks and boulders and small scrubs infrequent. A road runs through it like a scar, a gouge. It leads to Midgar. The bulk city. A leech on the earth sucking up all it can, guzzling it down, gurgling it out in huge jets of green. Reactors line the outer walls, spewing Mako into the air. Like a belch. Dusting the wind with hazes of it. The Planet's soul. He hears a whisper then. Subdued. Drowned out by the gusts of wind. It's coming closer, closer. Now it's at his feet, drifting up. It's saying, Cloud. A mantra. He looks down to see a hand, slithering, pulling itself along. It grabs onto his ankle. He feels a real fear grip him. The arm leads down to a shoulder, which leads to a neck, which leads to an ashen face looking up into his own. Cloud, the mouth drones. It's lips are puffed and swollen, making the name grotesque at best. They belong to Ian Crowley._

He jolts awake, shaking his leg out, trying to loosen the hand's tug. It takes him only a second to realize where he's at. It's dark now, the night and animal noises clearer: birds and insects. The wind is little more than a breeze. He can smell smoke. A lantern sits burning a small blue flame on the crate next to him. The bowl and tools removed. He notices the carton then. The pack of Zack's cigarettes sitting where the tools would have been. A burned out butt is stubbed into the wood of the crate. He's been watching over him. He feels he really might want one of those then. Or a drink. None of which he's ever had the pleasure of before. It just seemed like the right moment. His guts throbbing inside him. A warmth all over, super-heated, like the worst fever he's ever had.

Zack appears then. It would have been comical if he was trying to avoid him. The guy never seemed to leave him alone. But he wasn't trying to avoid him, he'd grown so close to him during his time here. What would it be like if he'd never run into him? He might be dead. The thought produces a sort of grim smile. A sick amusement. A thought he's not unused to. Zack doesn't take notice as he's sitting. He offers him a gesture, _good morning, good night_, whichever it was. His seat just a smaller crate pulled up to the side of the cot. He takes his pack then, his lighter, and pulls a cigarette out. It sits on his lips crooked as he lights it. The flame plays off his eyes, cool and wet. Cloud watches.

"I took them from your pocket."

He'd forgotten they'd been there. Zack offers him the thing and he takes it. The burning cigarette like a new species he's just discovered. It smokes in his hand, as he put it to his lips. Zack's eyes follow this, face hard to read. Cloud coughs then (poof goes the inhale), Zack beginning to laugh, taking the cigarette from his hand. He claps his hand down onto his back, as if that would help. It doesn't. Cloud swallows thickly and glowers. The taste like cordite.

"Yeah, it takes some getting used to."

"That's awful, why do you do that?"

Zack doesn't respond. He goes into another one of his humorous acts, pondering. It's so pronounced and dramatic and all him. What a weirdo. Cloud coughs again. His insides wrenching.

"I guess because my Dad used to."

"Oh." Cloud notices he says this a lot, and grimaces.

"You seemed to like it more before."

Cloud takes his moment. He knows it isn't right as soon as he says it.

"Why are you here?"

"What do you mean?"

"...Here." He's already stumbling.

"Because I like you."

The moment lengthens.

And that's enough. Cloud tries the cigarette again. He doesn't cough. A moment of triumph, the look passing his face, clearing away the dark smudges under his eyes. He realizes he loves Zack in that moment. More than he's ever felt. And it's good, and it's his own, and it won't die (please, oh, please). He's removed from battle the next morning, transported back to Midgar and back to the infirmary he's gotten to know so well. Zack stays. The doctors _tsk_ and shake their fingers, telling him to be more careful. _You boys are always so hard-headed_. He doesn't say a thing. Shinra hadn't gone public about their great losses yet (if they even would). They were especially trying to keep it quiet around their employees. Cloud's fawned over by the nurses while he's there. This one in particular. She's blond, and her soft hands are gentle at his wounds, wondering. The cuts are deep. She washes them (cool water running the ache away) and wraps his bandages. He thinks he thanks her, eyes half-lidded. The drugs too strong for his system. She smiles and says _no problem, Sunbeam_. He feels suddenly like he's been going in circles.


	7. seven

**they'll burn your hearts away**  
_ff7 semi-au, cloud/zack  
by lilnee_

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**7.**  
Cloud has never taken his showers with the rest of the boys (what there is now and what there was before), he had started skipping them altogether. Would wait until nightfall. Would sneak out, towel in hand, and take the lift down to the facility floors. He'd started sneaking around like Zack. It's a real hassle. You'd think Shinra would be on top of these things. Imagine some ten sweaty, cranky cadets in a cramped lift. It doesn't sound too appealing. He'd hug the walls, staying out of camera shot and enter the showers. He's there now. After a long day of training; the weapons drills, the hand-to-hand combat, the scientist's monitoring. A pool stretches out before him. Black glassiness, untouched. Beyond that are the open stalls, blue tiles going up the walls to shower heads craned. An opening in the middle of this leads to more stalls inside. No privacy. All thirty-something of the stalls and no privacy. He wouldn't have had a problem with this, he just didn't like his odds. Too many bodies to think about. Too many chances to be read by his height, his weight, his slight features. They say don't judge a book by its cover. Albeit, his own moral and the moral of the whole compound has been dragging on the floor (restless were the men, cruel were the commanders). He's trying to lay low. Chances are he'd be safer now than ever with Ian out of the picture, but he doesn't tempt it. Some things you never get used to.

He turns the nob below the shower head. The water comes bursting out, cold to the touch. He's been asked about it, why he showered alone, but he hadn't said anything. He'd nervously twisted a bit of his hair. Zack had said it made him look even more like a girl. He grimaced at him, made some horrible face. Zack had laughed. Oh, did he. He can't imagine taking a shower with him. What would that be like? _Don't think about it_. It's all he's ever offered to the notion. Just don't think about it. Zack would be all smooth ease, comfortable to a fault. Taught and toned. His fascination lies in his arms, his fingers, the curve of his spine at his lower back, the width of his shoulders. His lips. Too many things. He misses him. That's why. He's still in Wutai and Cloud's back here with a thumb stuck up his ass. Two weeks to show for it and his guts still hurt. The scars are pink and vibrant along his side and hipbone. They pull and move with his body. He presses his palm there. Remembers.

It's not long before the water's hot, and he steps under it, hissing.

"Do you normally shower in your boxers?"

He opens his eyes to see him standing there. Because of the water running over his head there's the illusion of him in a down pour. Zack Fair in a rain storm. Impeccable grin, crossed arms, a cocky lean to his hips. His hair's back in a tie. He doesn't look an inch different from when he last saw him.

"No, I—"

"It's cool, Spike."

But he steps closer, puts his hand under the spray and reaches out. Gloves deflect the water, fingertips just barely moving over the marks, the damage. He traces the scars. Cloud doesn't like the expression he has. It looks like confusion, but it isn't. Something deeper, darker, all wrong. It says _I don't like this_. He comes closer still. The water pummeling his hair down. He looks up into it, opens his mouth. Like a man who's been lost in a dessert. Like a man who's just found an oasis. He groans, _ahh_. Cloud doesn't feel the need to get him back for the earlier comment then. Doesn't say, _look who's talking_, or, _do you normally shower fully clothed_. He just lets it be.

Zack finally steps back, soaked to the bone. He's going to get shit for tracking water all through the compound, for coming to class in a mysteriously damp uniform. Zack wasn't one to worry about those things. New age flower child, or something. Just go with the flow, man. Peace. He shakes his head, dog like, and smoothes every wild hair down as best he can. The motion is endearing.

"I can see through them, by the way." And he points.

Cloud turns, agast. You really can't be too careful around Zack, he always finds an angle.

"Oh, come on. Don't play hard to get."

"Shuttup, Zack."

"No, lemme see. You've been hiding for too long." He always finds the angle to make it seem completely normal. This is what everyone's doing. This is normal. You're in good hands. So Cloud turns back around, slowly, stepping fully into the water. It's gotten colder so quickly. He feels a bit safer behind the screen. He shouldn't have though, because Zack pulls him out of it. He yelps, heels squeaking on the tile. Zack sets him upright, doesn't let him fall, hands on his shoulders.

"There." He stares for a long time. He looks lost, a little taken aback. Long doesn't quite begin to describe it. The pipes cough and gurgle, air puffing the spray into spurts, the water as cool as glacier.

"I hope you know..."

He stops. Cloud's beginning to shiver.

"I'm sorry."

"What?" Just a knee-jerk there. He didn't think his brain processed it properly.

"I'm sorry." He looks up. "For Wutai." His hands come to Cloud's face, gloves damp from the shower. This is where, in the movies, the two lovers would share a kiss. This is where, in the movies, the crowd would cheer and swoon and the credits would roll. Everyone would go home fulfilled and happy and that would be the end of it. But this isn't really a movie. Instead Zack bumps him, forehead to forehead, the sad smile too close, and then disengages entirely.

"I've got something to show you."

_Oh_, flittering thought. The emotion passes over Cloud's face.

It's been two weeks since he's seen him—the days long, straining (so much to absorb, so much to deflect)—and frankly, all he wants to do is have a cigarette. Have another go at it. Zack was right. He had fallen in with the wrong crowd. They go back to their quarters, Zack squishing and squashing with every step, and change. The one thing you're never short on here is extra fatigues. Cloud struggles with his, skin damp. Zack leads him down the hall to the lift then, in no time, dragging him along, telling him to move it or he's going to miss it. They take the lift to the top floor and get out. He didn't even know they had clearance to be up here. Some of the floors required a key card. He's pushed along to the stairs. A large black '_19th floor_' is printed above the access door, an arrow points downward; '_roof_' and an arrow up is printed next to this. Zack continues to shove him along. They finally get to where they're going and Cloud sees what Zack was talking about. It's the Moon.

"It was red in Wutai."

It's yellow here, huge and whole. There's a moment where they don't say anything. The flick of a lighter startles him. The plume of grey twists Zack's face, distorts it. He offers the cigarette. Cloud takes it. The moment stretches thinner as Cloud takes a puff. The smoke is thick and dry in his lungs, coming out as a ribbon when he exhales. It's a clear night in Midgar, but most of the stars are still too difficult to see. It isn't dark here, not really. It gets _darker_, sure, but it's still bright and alive. The Shinra Tower dimmed but still glowing, search lights swiveling. Cloud can see colours and signs, car's headlights. They blink and shimmer while the living noises drift up. _Look, this is what you're protecting_. He gets the feeling. Pride.

"Cloud."

He looks up, Zack having moved closer. He takes the cigarette for a moment, just to get a drag, then gives it back. He looks too thoughtful and hesitant to be Zack. It throws Cloud for a curve. He isn't sure what he's in for. Doesn't like the sudden heavy weight the night has taken on.

"I..." Stumbling.

Great.

Cloud exudes his nervousness.

"What are you doing up here?"

"Geez!"

It's one of the cadets. A boy who's sallow face sucks all the moon's light in and makes it something deformed, unkind. His eyebrows are quirked, good-naturedly, but the air around him spells trouble.

"You scared the shit out of me," Zack says.

"You didn't answer my question."

Zack snorts. They know the guy's problem already, they have him pegged. He's one of those teacher's pets types. Thinks he's all badass while reaming the other boys for ridiculous things. _Your shirt's untucked, your hair's tousled, your etiquette is atrocious_. He had been one of the lieutenants at Wutai. Cloud guesses maybe he followed them here. He shifts to the side behind Zack and out of view. The cigarette smolders. Zack responds then. Cocksure.

"Sight-seeing. What are _you_ doing up here?"

"And smoking." The boy points to Cloud.

"And that."

"I'm going to report you."

"No, you're not."

"Yes—" He's cut short.

The SOLDIER's black-gloved hand on his shoulder stalls his words. Cloud flicks the cigarette then and puts his arms behind his back. To attention. Zack just stands, arms at his sides, body language ridged. He's surprised. This would have been a worse situation to be in if not for what the operative says next. His voice is liquid. Low and even. Shinra promotes intimidation.

"I've been looking for you."

He looks to Zack, who stands there still. His hair's dripping, making a line down his back for Cloud to focus on. This is either going to be good for them or bad for them. It could go either way, really. His probation could be extended (Zack's had been absolved because of his actions at Wutai), or he could be thrown out completely. He's just thinking about himself now. What might happen to Zack doesn't even cross his mind until later. They're told to go back to their rooms, being ushered out by the 2nd class (his uniform a deep royal purple). All but Zack are seen onto the lift. He's standing behind the operative as the doors slide shut. Face gone clear and calm. The boy who'd found them scowls at Cloud as they get to the lower levels. He's taller than him, wouldn't you know, but he doesn't say a thing as he stands there. He still hadn't said what his business on the roof had been. He scowls again after getting off the lift, shoving Cloud as he walks down the hall, going to his quarters. Cloud doesn't sleep much that night, and he doesn't dream.

.

.

_SOLDIER_. There weren't really exams for it. This was a common misconception. You couldn't just come in and expect to _one day_ take the test and be a super hero. His mother had been wrong, Cloud had been wrong. They don't test you because they pick you by choice instead, you are recommended. It doesn't happen very often and it's confirmed by the President and the SOLDIER Director themselves. You have to show your brawn and your muscle, pull through difficult missions and strive higher still. It doesn't really come as a shock to Cloud. He smiles a bit, sure, but Zack looks less than enthralled. The 2nd had pulled him aside to show him to the Director. Cloud couldn't place his name. And they had thankfully not gotten in trouble for the night before (it's as if it never happened). He'd simply wanted to talk to Zack to propose the idea. Zack had accepted.

"I'm _in_ SOLDIER." It began to sink in. It wouldn't stop just there. Zack wasn't going to stop until he was 1st class. He didn't have to tell you that. You guessed it when you first saw him. He had this air to him, and although it was calm one moment he could buckle down and burn your hearts away the next. Cloud can't think of anything to say in response to the statement. He feels for him, feels the happiness, the excitement and the doubt. He gets to go out and travel the world and fight his way up the ranks. Could earn the right to stand next to Sephiroth. He wanted to cheer, but instead he sits there. What had he been expecting? Had he been expecting to get into SOLDIER the exact same time as he did? Was he hoping to go laughing into the sunset and have some sort of happy ending? The one where he can go home to his mother and Tifa and they'd be proud? Where he's lugging a sword around, just like Zack's and generating the same respect, the same awe as Sephiroth? He wants to be a hero, but he couldn't feel so far from it now. He just drags around as usual. Stuck in his spot, sitting on his bunk. He's pulled his knees in, pointed his face down. He's always refusing to do what he felt until he had no choice.

Zack takes him out to spar and smoke that night. He talks and talks, Cloud listening. Offering a comment every now and then. He's happy, and Cloud begins to feel the same way. The cigarette's are making him light-headed. They both had agreed to smoke the whole pack tonight as a sort of celebration. They are only six cigarettes in and there's still five left. On the last one they both crumble to the mats to catch their wind. This is their sanctuary. Zack pulls it out, crushing the empty pack in his fist. They had sparred and then cut to break for a smoke, sparred and then cut for a break. Cloud feels a little sick at this point. Zack lights it and passes it off. The taste is caked down his throat. Feels like an ash tray or a tire tread.

The words come out scratchy, "I'm going to miss you."

"Yeah," Zack says. His voice has dipped.

He's not quite done with his half when Zack rolls him onto his back. The cigarette thankfully stays in his hand. He gapes. The surprise goes from _what, hey_ to _whoa_ as Zack starts to kiss him. His taste is similar to the one in his own mouth. Harsh and biting, but he takes it like its sweet. Opens wider as Zack's tongue comes dipping in, colliding. It's all or nothing so Cloud reaches out to him, and he's surprised at the feeling, the wet slick of it. Arms curl around him. He thinks he moans then, dizzy. Time dissipates entirely. They pull apart, and it has to be minutes later. The cigarette is burned down to the filter, Zack's mouth red, lewd.


	8. eight

**they'll burn your hearts away**  
_ff7 semi-au, cloud/zack  
by lilnee_

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**8.**  
Things start going bad for Cloud after that, because it never does take long. Zack starts taking on more missions, is moved from the barracks entirely. He's put up in the SOLDIER's compound, dressed in the dry navy blue of a 3rd class and is always on his newly issued cell phone (because they—the Director and other bigwigs—where always in contact with him). Cloud only sees him as he comes through. The missions his squad handle now are small control issues, like evacuation and public outings. It starts out with small patrols around Midgar, the wealthier districts and the slums. He doesn't start doing better until later. Until he's found his spot, his light, achieving the expectations of his instructors. They praise his improvements. He slowly begins moving up, taking on a position in a more aggressive, tactical squad. He's put on notice for deployment in no time. It's been several days since he last saw Zack, and the anticipation of working with him keeps his spirits high. Fighting next to a SOLDIER. Fighting to be a SOLDIER. He keeps his calm and his cool and stays with it. It's not long before he's caught up with him again. They're headed to a derelict Shinra factory in Modeoheim, mission object unknown to a grunt like him. He's the extra fire power. It's located in the mountains, miles away from Midgar. The helicopter rocks unsteadily. He's starting to feel nauseous again and holds on for dear life. Zack looks introspective. Quiet. They don't land though. The air is thin and choked with snow and the pilot loses control. It feels like the end of times. Moments freezing into solid objects. You could reach out and break one. No one making a noise, all exceptionally trained.

He twitches and rolls to his side in the snow, yards from the burning bird. His sigh sends a white cloud of mist into the air. They infused Zack with mako, is what he'd been told. It's called mako showering. He's up before anyone else, pulling the crew away from the flames. His strength, agility, all thanks to special enhancements. They're grooming perfection. A man in a black suit is sent with them, one of the Turks. His hair is pulled into a tight knot behind his head. His stare is cold and collected, as one might expect. He doesn't skip a beat, assessing the situation and conversing with Zack. They move on, everyone accounted for. Zack hasn't noticed him. Directing his thoughts toward the mission, towards what he's called to do. And he never does. They're in and out and picked up, the lead they'd been given gone cold apparently. Zack climbs into the second chopper, hunching his shoulders, disappointed. Cloud doesn't confront him.

His next assignment after that is in Junon, to look good as the President announces his new Vice President. His son, Rufus Shinra. This unit he's moved to now, the 42nd Infantry, doesn't get stationed in the same areas as SOLDIERs and they're not put into full combat. Zack however is on the front lines. The word gets around, and Cloud feels lonelier. He starts doing worse in training, failing sessions. He doesn't quite get the same respect that the other boys do, and it only gets worse. He's drafted and given an outside mission and moved to Junon again for an emergency evacuation. He gets airsick on the way over, as usual. The other men in his group teasing him. And that's where Zack finds him, leaning against the wall of an access tunnel, head hung. His composure bending. The interaction is for seconds, Zack padding Cloud's ego, asking to hang out, _smiling_. His lips pale. It feels ridiculous.

It's weeks, the days seeming to go by in them, before he's deployed again. He's graduated weapons training and basic swordsmanship. His commander gives him a little smile along with the briefing. Because it's in Nibelheim. Like this was going to be a treat. It's been so long now, he'd thought he might have gotten somewhere. Might have been in SOLDIER already. It's months now. He cringes at the idea. His mom, Tifa. He's told he's an asset to the mission, because he knows the area surrounding the reactor. There's some sort of problem up there, monsters and things and maybe some village interference. They would follow his lead, but the units put in charge are two 1sts. He gets a knowing look then. He's told to be on his best behavior. Professional, quick, and precise. Show them what the Shinra Army can do. He doesn't know who they are until he reports in. He isn't as thrilled as he was hoping to be when he finds out who they are.

.

.

Zack and Sephiroth sit together, side by side. It's a fairly small operation but with a high risk factor, hence the reason for the two of them. They get there by transport vehicle and it's a rough ride. The fields out here filled with rocks, craters and hilly valleys. Cloud gets sick again. He's getting sick for several other reasons though. This is his hometown. What was he gonna do if someone finds out it's him and he's not the one taking the lead after Sephiroth? He's not the one in a now dark purple 2nd's uniform. He figures this won't take long though, if it is that simple of a mission. He's not going to take his helmet off. Let them wonder. And he won't talk to anyone either. He's worried when it comes to Zack though. About what he'll do when he figures out it's him. _You're always talking about that girl, Tifa. Go on and say hi! See your mom!_ It would be a disaster.

His worry is ill-founded for the moment, Zack and Sephiroth are all business. They take up rooms at the inn, and the few infantryman that had been assigned with them are put on watch. Cloud stands at the inn's doors, stiff. Zack noses around and makes his presence known. A few people are out in the square, curious and excited to see the SOLDIERs. Zack eats it up. Nibelheim is laid back and the same as it ever was. Cloud had looked to his old house then, regretful. He hadn't talked to his mother much and started wondering how she was doing. If she'd been getting that money that he'd arranged to be sent to her weekly. Nearly all of his earnings, but just enough left over for him. He'd had to pay for a new uniform recently, his body out growing the last. She would have hoped to see him.

Zack returns to the inn after his escapades (asking literally everyone about what was going on), the Sun having already set behind the ridge. He stops at the doors. Cloud had been yawning, his head tilted down. He guessed the movement had shown enough of his blond hair sticking out the back for him to see. He'd loosened his scarf a few hours ago, too. Hopes for getting a break for sleep floating around in his head. He hadn't heard anything yet, no news and no small talk. The villagers had retired early, and the boy standing to his right was undeniably just for show. He hadn't said a word.

"Cloud?"

"Huh?"

"Hey! This is your hometown, right?"

Cloud waits for it.

"Why don't you go say—"

"No." And cuts him off. His fingers are digging into his palms, leather creaking. The other infantryman looks over. Someone talking out of place to a SOLDIER wasn't common.

"Sorry, sorry. Didn't mean offense."

There are three other boys (not including the silent one) besides Cloud from the infantry barracks. Zack regards this, hand on his chin. It looks like an idea is brewing. Zack's ideas usually ended up in something bad happening to Cloud, or almost always did. It was never good, let's put it that way. He resists, gets ready to say _no_ again. He isn't surprised by what he says. Zack likes him, he knows, and he gets lonely like everyone else. Wants the contact and trust of a friend, an ally. Is that all he really is, then? Rent-a-friend.

"I've got a room, you want to come check it out? Hide out for a bit."

"I shouldn't."

"These guys can handle it."

Love is a terrible thing, he's come to realize. It pulls you out of your right mind, gives you wonder and then stomps you out. Like rain over a raging fire, or a boot crushing wild flowers. It just eventually puts you out. Shreds your heart. You're left a burned out wreck. He doesn't follow his own advice though, because he follows Zack inside. His friend takes him upstairs, waving at the innkeeper, and poking his head in on Sephiroth. Sephiroth stands at one of the windows, looking out to the mountain pass, looking up at the outlined reactor. The moon here is always so bright and looming, it makes him look like a wraith. He doesn't say anything to Zack's greeting, just hums in affirmation. Cloud hangs in the doorway for a second longer than he should have. His obsession, his hero. The SOLDIER looks over, eyes green, illuminated. Eyebrows piqued.

"Come on! Geez." Zack tugs his scarf, pulling him away. Cloud's stomach flops and Sephiroth turns away. They don't sleep like Cloud was hoping for, instead Zack fills his head with all the things he'd been out doing lately. The people he's met, the missions and monsters. It doesn't take long for them to be discovered though. There's a knock on the door and Sephiroth comes in. He doesn't look like anything in particular. No emotion, no sign of reservation or vexation. He addresses Cloud, by name. Voice like ice chips, a movement in the earth. He is entirely more frightening than stories could portray. And entirely more attractive. His wolf's grey hair hangs down to the back of his shins.

"Cloud, you're no longer on point. Shinra has secured us a guide. She's a local, just like you."

He always made a point of knowing who he was working with, Zack explains later. It was unusual. He was rumoured to have been put on record as having an eerily acute memory. Cloud knows who they've gotten as a guide. They're here for monsters and reports of possible sabotage, and they want Tifa to show them the way. He shrugs, his hair shifts into his face. He's only just taken his helmet off, it's left his hair depressed, snug against his forehead and cheeks. He doesn't chance a look at Sephiroth. Doesn't chance him having a good insight into his thin skin, his weakness.

"Yes, sir." It's more or less a mumble.

Zack snorts after Sephiroth's left.

"Don't pine too much there, he's out of your league."

"Have you worked with him before?" Cloud's leaning against the side of Zack's bed, sat on the floor.

"Oh, yeah. We're like friends."


	9. nine

**they'll burn your hearts away**  
_ff7 semi-au, cloud/zack  
by lilnee_

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**9.**  
It doesn't happen all at once. It stretches over a span of six or seven days. It begins as they're lead up to the reactor the next day, Tifa showing the way. They stop by the Shinra Manor on their way up, the last landmark before the trail to Mount Nibel, winding back and far. A villager asks for a picture. He looks eager, lifting his camera. Zack agrees, of course. Has Sephiroth get in on it, too. Tifa stands between them, flashing a peace sign, and the camera goes off. _Click_. Cloud stands aside, helmet in place, breath even and slow. He doesn't like the feeling he gets.

They're taken up the path then, the way long, and it's filled with sulking, violent things. Monsters. The beasts slow and dumb, but many. Cloud can feel himself calming as he fires his gun, clipping the wings of a bat-like creature. It shrieks and falls. He gets a nod from Zack. The reactor stands ahead like a boil, like a canker on the cliff side. The glowing of green and flashes of red the only signs of life. Sephiroth and Zack begin going up the steps, red and rusted, but Tifa stops them with a yell. She wasn't told what they were doing up here. She tells them it isn't safe out here and she's always wanted to see inside. They've all heard stories about what Shinra kept up here. Cloud remembers them. Experiments. Creatures. That's why they were afraid of it. Sephiroth has none of this though. He shakes his head and gestures to Cloud. As they both head inside he has to stand in front of her to make her stop. He pushes her back a step, hands in front of him. She glares, looking right up to his face, huffing that it was _unfair_. They didn't stay in there for long and Zack comes out with a gloomy look. Sephiroth doesn't say a word. They head back, the trip continues on, silent.

Zack tells Cloud that Sephiroth's acting strange the next day. He looks more than nervous, like it's eating him inside. Says that he's locked himself in the Shinra Mansion, is muttering and pouring over the books there. He won't respond. Cloud feels the same unease as before coming again. What he didn't want to call fear, but knew damn well that it was. What they'd found in the reactor Zack wouldn't say. He'd go quiet and shift and then stand up to do his squats. Cloud had his guesses, but he keeps his thoughts to himself. Keeps his worries out of sight. He watches Zack, having temporarily stolen his bed to lay on. The air goes thick and heavy outside. Storm clouds gathering.

Days pass. It's in the dead of the night when Cloud wakes up. He can immediately smell burning, can smell the heat in the air. He'd fallen asleep in Zack's bed again. He jumps up and reaches for his helmet and gear. People are screaming, yelling. Nibelheim is on fire. It consumes all and flares into the sky. It licks at the stars themselves. He's caught in the middle of it as soon as he runs outside, the inn untouched for now. It jumps into his face, the smoke choking him out. Killed in action because of a freak fire. He doesn't want that on the report. He doesn't want that for Nibelheim. But he can't take it. The heat drives him down to the ground, knees digging deep grooves. He begins to crawl, going for his house, but he can't reach it. The fire's already sunken in the roof, burned the door down. _Mom_. The sorrow then, the great loss. He lets his head drop into the dirt and offers himself to whatever would take him away. He can feel the fire moving closer, hungry, furious. It's Zack who finds him there. He shakes him awake, just that moment of touch moving him from his state. He gets up, sweating and dizzy but not dead, and follows him to the reactor. The way up, beyond the manor, is burning. Ahead they can see him, Sephiroth. The fire doesn't seem to bother him at all as he moves back into it, turning away. His smile is a snake's smile, serpentine. Deadly. But they follow. Zack charges forward, not a single hesitation. Cloud hadn't seen anyone else in town and starts to worry about Tifa, maybe she'd have gone up this way to escape.

They get to the reactor, the town alight and smoking below. Plumes, black as regret, billow into the sky. It mingles with the storm clouds and fans out. It's a deep gloom. Cloud stares. Tifa's inside. He finds her on the floor, half dead. A slash, because it's wide and long, starts from her collar and goes down to her belly. The blood's slipping across the steel floor, dripping off the landing. She smiles at him though. He'd taken his helmet off to see her, and she'd noticed it was him. The scarf did little to hide his face. That didn't matter anymore, though. Not his uniform, not his doubt—he came for her. He hears a crash then and notices Zack isn't behind him. There's a jolt in the foundation, and Zack comes crashing out from the room above, knocking his head on one of the reactor test tubes. He falls limp to the floor. It's Sephiroth. He'd broken into a room labeled JENOVA. Cloud can hear him in there, talking with someone. Voice uneven, eery. It's anger then. A blinding, furious contortion of it. This didn't feel like anything he'd felt before. Not the anger at his training, or the instructors or the other boys. Nothing trivial. Not a simple anger. It burns in his side, at his chest, feels like it's going to bubble out his mouth and burn the air. Zack groans then, shifts to his side, wincing. He looks over. He's hurt. He says, _get him, Cloud_.

So he runs up the stairs to the room above and stands. Zack's sword, the buster sword, it's sitting jabbed into the ground infront of him. At a tilt. Like a sword in a fairy tale. Sephiroth stands on, his back to him, hands pressed to a length of glass in front of him. He takes up the sword.

"Why?"

The words start coming.

"Tifa..."

And he starts walking towards him.

"My mom..."

He gets closer.

"Nibelheim..."

He's almost to a yell and Sephiroth still hasn't moved, as if he's waiting, or he really doesn't notice. Caught in something between a trance and reverie. The motion is smooth, the sword not heavy in his hands as he lunges. The tip of it enters at Sephiroth's back and goes all the way through to crack the glass at his front. There's no blood. Nothing for seconds. But then he moves, leers over his shoulder to look down at Cloud. It comes as a surprise when he flings him back, catching Cloud across the face. He lands on the floor, back where he started, stunned. He doesn't sense it's coming before it happens. Sephiroth's blade. Legendary. It pierces through his chest, below the collarbone. It lifts him up, nothing supporting him but the blade's edge. It begins to cut upward, into his flesh. The weight of his body pulling him down. He grabs it, reaches out, tries to stabilize himself. His gloves catch and tear.

Sephiroth stares, outraged. Cloud dangles, limp but for his straining arms. The breaking point, the impending insanity. He feels it start to grab at his mind. Cloud starts pulling himself down the blade, closer, pulling it through his body. He's trying to stand with his feet on the floor, get away from the edge. He takes a wheezing, thick breath then, blood flavouring his mouth. Sephiroth has a look of doubt pass his face. Just for that moment. That blink. He says, _what are you_? Cloud yells, feels himself yell, but he can't hear it. He's putting all his strength into it, into lifting the SOLDIER from his feet. He wobbles but doesn't lose it, doesn't feel the pain and the struggle. He tosses him aside with a quick flick, and Sephiroth goes off the landing and into the mako below. The blade pulls from Cloud as this happens, and he stumbles then. Nearly falls. He's turning around, going down the stairs to Zack, to Tifa. He falls and slides down the steps. Zack is climbing up with his hands, pulling himself up, trying to stand. A fresh line of red has come down into his eye. He blinks as he sees Cloud coming and before he falls he says his name: _Cloud_.

.

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_Save this one, too. He'll make a perfect specimen._

The words drifting, vague.

_Put him just there._

Water rushes around him then, wet and cold, thick, closing in. What he can see when he opens his eyes is limited. It's a room. A desk, a chair, lines of bookcases. He can see the diluted, liquid essence: the mako. Watch as it's filtered through various sterile, steel machines and pumped in by black tubes through the channel above him. It pumps into his enclosure. It's a giant glass tube like the ones they had at the reactor. It drains every so often, mixing the old and the new, but it never leaves him completely. He's always suspended in it, unmoving. It's keeping him alive, he suspects. Fibre thin needles poke into his arms, monitoring progress. _Progress_. There are voices he can hear, always muffled at best, but they don't come very often. They speak of progress and altering and strains. There's an ocean of noise in his head always. A rushing of sounds and feelings, memories. He soon learns to shut them out, close his eyes and drift. All but disappearing completely. This must be what it's like to be dead.

He doesn't know how much later it is then, when the air comes rushing in again (the biting chill on his face, the burning from his lungs because they're so unused to it) and the mako starts to surge out. The glass cracks, crystal work of lines, and then crashes outward. His eyes snap open. Blurriness meets him. He doesn't slop out onto the floor, thankfully, because he's still connected to the machine. Hands come up and pull the needles from his skin, one by one. Every one a sting, a new pain. Every one a hissing groan from the person above, freeing him.

_Come on... We're getting out of here._

Hands on his face then, liquid and bare. He gravitates toward the touch, leans forward and falls into arms ready for him. He can't stand, and doesn't try, slumping to the floor. The other person can't take the sudden weight and goes with him. The floor feels warm, unusual. Uneven. His head lolls to the side. His muscles don't twitch or respond when he tries to move, tries to look around. They're silent, unwilling. He felt he would have been in panic or shock if he had been able to. Instead he lies there, the person having left, walked off. He's cold, he knows that, and it's all he feels for a while.


	10. ten

**they'll burn your hearts away**  
_ff7 semi-au, cloud/zack  
by lilnee_

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**10.**  
Images will come in and out, but mostly Cloud can't see anything. Shimmering images maybe, unfocused colours and shapes. He's present of the moments but can do nothing to effect them. There are voices as well, but they're too faded to have made out. They don't come all the time, and they're mostly hollow, in and out and then gone. They're coming now, clearer now. _It's mako poisoning_, one of the voices says. He thinks he might have opened his eyes then. Or maybe he'd always had them open, because he can see. The voice leaves then. Zack keeps them in that spot for a while after. The constant image Cloud can see is the sky. He's laying down on his back looking up, unable to move even if he wanted to. He feels so tired, so drawn thin. Zack's not too far away, sitting by a fire. If he could have seen his face he'd bet he had this proud look (even though he'd cheated and used a fire materia). It had been calm like that before the voice came the first time, and then strained afterwards. As it comes back now, urgent this time, it disrupts his waking dream. He starts, blinks. An improvement.

This voice tells them that they're being followed by Shinra. They can't stay here for long. Zack doesn't respond with anything for a while. He says _okay_ after a long pause. He comes back to Cloud then and lifts him up. He has been doing this ever since they left Nibelheim. Zack lugging him around over his shoulder. Strong as a bear, or something. Strong as a mako-infused SOLDIER 1st class. It's not long after that when they're stopped again. Zack had been able to secure transportation by then. A man who was running his truck to Midgar from his chocobo ranch had stopped and picked them up. Cloud had started feeling pain by then. Unlike before, when it was a fully-body numb, a full body tomb. He can feel a tingling pins and needles at his fingertips and a wrenching at his chest. Every breath is a feat. The corrugated truck bed moves underneath him. It's attached to the types of vehicles you might see in the city, buzzing around. You wouldn't see them much outside, or in a place like Nibelheim, Gongaga, Kalm. Zack's been talking to the truck's driver, smiling as he did, leaning over the truck's cab, careless. He turns to see Cloud and comes over then, sitting next to him. Cloud can barely process things, an alien green sheen has gone over his eyes. It's misty at best. Zack starts to talk then. Voice far away, like echoes in a tunnel, but he can make it out.

_So, what are you gonna do, Cloud?_

Cloud doesn't speak.

_Don't worry, I won't leave you. We're friends._

He shoves him, as if this were normal. As if his friend had always been dying from mako poisoning (or what some people called mako addiction). _It eats up your body_, they say. _Rings you dry_. The driver hits a rock in the road and his head nods to the side, cutting off his view of Zack. More time passes. The day was just getting started, the sunlight white brilliance. The snap of gun fire throws it off. Zack lunges forward, knocking Cloud to the bed. Sniper fire. The only thing you wouldn't have seen coming from out here; looked like just a long dusty road and jutting rocks. You would have thought an attack to be easily spotted. Zack dares to stand and hits the truck's cab, yells for the driver to stop, but it's no use. He's panicked, gas pedal down to the floor. Zack decides to jump out then, taking Cloud with him. He hits the ground first, rolling over with Cloud rag-dolled on top. He wheezes as he gets up (air knocked clean from his lungs). They're out from under Shinra's thumb for the moment. Trees stand to they're right and to their left. He retrieves Cloud and they move into them. He doesn't remember anymore of that until he blinks alive. When he focuses his eyes the Sun is setting or the storm cloud's had followed them from Nibelheim. The trees are dark and thick, rushing by, and when they break from them the drowned out Sun glares down. A mighty hill stands before them, boulders scattered about. Zack leans him against the base of one. Puts him between a rock at a tight place, basically. He ruffles his hair, one swift moment and then he moves away.

Cloud's vision had been focusing and refocusing all through this. Struggling to see clearly. The greyed light just now bursts onto his eyes, vision half restored. He can see Zack turning away. He lifts his arm up suddenly, impulsive, and reaches after him. Reaches out to Zack as he's walking away, as he's gone. The air's humming after. Leaves and swirls of dust blowing by. It grows darker. He doesn't stay still for long, after he finds he can move. He's doesn't want to wait and see what happens. The grass leading off to where Zack had walked is less grassy, more bare. Cloud can't see what lies ahead. Shots ring out then, a stream of clips emptying and being reloaded. It lasts for minutes, maybe. Time didn't have its right constraints on Cloud. It moved solidly one moment and then sped up the next. There's a roll of thunder over head. The air is close and moist now. No sounds for a while. Cloud has pushed himself off the rock behind and is dragging himself forward. He reaches out and pulls himself, grass and weeds and mud filling his gloves. It starts to rain then, as he sees a cliff dropping off in front of him, several yards ahead at best. A sharp cut off and then Midgar down below, far away but still huge. It's gleaming and monstrous, the area surrounding it dead and flooded. The badlands. Green boils at its insides. Its gooey, horrible guts.

There's a body lying just ahead. Dropped to the ground on its back, up to its ears in a rain puddle filling, silhouetted by the glow below. Bullet shells and lost helmets litter his path and the pool of water colours itself darker the closer he gets. It's reddish now. Other bodies lie around, but this one's different. He's drawn to this one. As he does get closer still he has a better idea of who it is. It's Zack. His guts constrict, his throat tightens. He has to drag himself closer still. Wants to see, wants to be at his side. When he gets there Zack's not gone yet. He's breathing open-mouthed into the rain. Blood streaming down his face. It washes away and then starts streaming anew. His chest is torn, the shreds in his uniform too many to count. Cloud tries not to focus on that, instead he lifts his eyes and looks straight into Zack's. And Zack's not sad, not afraid, his is a calm face. He has the mind to smile then, weak, after he seems to jerk alive for a moment. Remembers to breathe. As if he was shocked back into life by Cloud's presence. He doesn't feel that he should corrupt the moment then. The moment as he dies. But he does anyway. Just to say he was there. He opens his mouth and a miserable mumble comes out.

"_Zack_."

"_For the both of us_..."

"_Both of us_?"

He looks on, wondering. Zack reaches up then, arm barely staying stable in the air. It sways but he still manages to grab at Cloud's head, around the back of the neck, and pulls him down. Right to his chest. Cloud goes with it easily, letting his forehead press into the soaked uniform. He stays there for a moment or two, feeling the warmth that was still there, breathing in the wet fabric smell. As he lifts back, Zack's arm having fallen limp and away, he can feel the heat of blood on his face. But he doesn't flinch or wipe it off. He feels marked. Cursed. Cloud listens as he talks still, head lifting up just that much to look at him.

"..._You're gonna live_."

He grabs for his sword then, reaching back. He hefts it over (the thing does weigh a ton) and puts it up for Cloud to take. He doesn't for a moment. Just looks on, trying to digest the moment. What was he to do? He reaches out, slowly, and takes it. Putting his hands, one by one, on the hilt. Zack shoves it into his chest then. Eyes still kind, growing dim, and he smiles yet.

"_My honor, my dreams... They're yours now_."

His eyes close altogether now and his head tilts to the side. Cloud feels the moment out. Looks up into the rain and then back down again. Zack's face is pale white, deathly white, but his smile has lingered. His mom, Tifa, Nibelheim, Sephiroth (his _hero_), and now Zack. It gets to him, and he can feel his body start to shake. Can feel the heat of tears now, as they fall down his face. He leans back, onto his heels, and screams into the sky above. The rain pours on still, trying to clean the only lasting part of Zack away. The blood smears and runs, he can taste it on his tongue. And then he's quiet, and he doesn't leave for a long while yet. It rains on and still he sits, pressing the sword into his chest, the hilt rubbing a bruise into his collarbone. He stands finally, the sky clearing then. He lifts the buster sword with him. Still too weak to lift it fully. He looks down one more time, a look of grief twisting his features, and then he turns, dragging the giant sword behind him. He looks down as he walks, boots slopping in the thick mud, and notices he's not in his infantry uniform. It's the colour of a SOLDIER 1st class. He sets himself, sets his shoulders and keeps moving. He heads to Midgar. Heads on to whatever else might come. Ready, but not hopeful.


	11. missing chapters: 1a

**the missing chapters  
_they'll burn your hearts away_**  
_ff7 semi-au, cloud/zack  
by lilnee_

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**1.a**_  
(He's seventeen now. Seven years after he'd ever mentioned his plans. He's packed and standing in his house one last time, looking at his mother. He's grown taller, lanky and a little insecure but his eyes are as blue as gems. Hair as blond as ever. Sharp with resolve, cold with intent. He doesn't say goodbye to anyone else. Not even Tifa. It's not long before he's with the caravan to Midgar.)_

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He is wrong in thinking he'll be in Midgar in no time. He's also wrong in thinking this would be the easy part. He's traveling by caravan (a small group of tradesman and other folk relocating or out for work) to where they run trucks along the country side, coast to coast. _People carriers or fun runners_, he's told by his mother. _They run up and down the fields and through the dusty canyons, bursting with people and cargo, trundling along at dangerous speeds._ They accept money, clothing, food and other commodities for a lift to wherever (within reason, and sometimes not) you wanted to go. People make money off of this but they don't all run on a schedule and they're not all folk you want to sit and have conversation with. Most of them have been known to rob you and leave you to mummify in the heat. Horror stories. Night time spooks. He knows the dirty details from town rumours; his mother would never frighten him that way, she always wanted her innocent little boy.

He couldn't walk from point to point either way, it would take too long and he'd need to be trained or with someone who was. The land from here to Midgar and beyond wasn't free from deformation, Life Stream cronies, _monsters_, so you had to be careful. Food and shelter were not free things out in the open land and he doesn't have the wit or cunning to gain that inch against the wilderness. As reluctant as he was to join a moving community he doesn't have the luxury of choice. One reason being: his inexperience. The other reason being: this was his mother's last soothing words, her last protective hug, her last gift to her son—_safety_. The caravan wouldn't have accepted him but for his mother's word. It was because he looked so young (and really he _is_ still just a child). She told the company he was looking for his father. They believed it when they read it from her face, hollow and pale. Cloud ducked his head.

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The world is much larger when you're knee deep in it. He walks for a long while with his head down all the same, his hair hanging a blonde curtain, shameful. He isn't talked to and he doesn't talk, but he can feel open space all around him. As he finally looks up, wide-eyed and mouth agape, he's lucky if he didn't fall into a prairie dog hole. It seemed large enough when he was looking out his window, sure, but actually standing in the open spaces now, actually breathing in the un-holstered whip of the wind, it's so much more than his virgin mind can handle. He feels a tangle of unease and reverence as he walks. They haven't quite left sight of the sharp, angry-looking ridge of Mount Nibel yet, even though his legs are telling him he should be to Shinra by now; he looks back. He's only looked back one time before. He plans on making this his last glance, his chance to change his mind and run home done for as he does, pausing for a lengthened moment—the red glow there, the homes of friends and family quiet, tucked in, the memories of comfort—everything slopes and disappears with the pace of his steps. He tells himself to look ahead. This should be the easy part.

Hours pass and the pink horizon blushes deeper. Cloud looks up and marvels at a sky busting open with stars, very similar to the one at home. It's not long before someone in the group stumbles and loses their pace, dropping back and edging off. Cloud keeps his eyes ahead (and up) but puts mental feelers out, watching all. More folk in the group start to thin out and fall back. The old and the young. A boy whimpers and whines and falls to his knees. Clothing ragged and torn, as brown as the dirt they tread. An orphan. Cloud's heard stories, of course; small towns, big gossip. They're all stirred up from ruined cities, burned towns, charred encampments. The fallen child is soon plucked up as another walks by, but those who slowed to a mosey are forgotten. Cloud realizes a fear as he watches the stragglers fade into the growing darkness behind them, the dying Sun just ahead showing their way—he fears they will leave them. The group would move on and they would be forgotten, forever, even by the land. His fear for himself grows in that moment, too. _Don't fall, don't stop._ Someone then yells _hold up_ and two teenage boys run back to retrieve the wary members. Because families account for their own only those traveling alone get lost or over-looked, or separated. A man, hair as snowy as the whites of his eyes, is literally lugged to the front of the group by the two boys. They're taking him to the cart at the front, to sit and rest. He fixes Cloud with a stare as he goes by, shoes dragging in the loose soil, cutting out grooves. Cloud's fear doesn't wane, he carries it on with him until they stop an hour or so later, the last of the light dead. Men dig out a pit and build up a fire inside. The group fractures and settles down.

Cloud has a pack with him and he sits on it now, nothing fragile inside to worry about, just some clothing and papers; all his food and money wrapped up and in his pockets. He digs for it, the concept forgotten before for other thoughts. Savory smells begin to drift on the open air, families and travelers sharing soup or dried meat. You're not allowed to eat on the hoof. A small girl, nibbling on a cookie, stares down Cloud from where she sits by her mother. He looks away, down to the ground cracked and dry, gleaned of moisture (like the inside of his mouth). He takes a bite from his sandwich, a little squished but no worse for taste, and listens to the voices and concerns of the other folk chime in. Eyes trained on the flame, he doesn't notice a man take a seat next to him. He shoulders a pack three times the size of his own, balding head bound in cloth to protect from the smart of the Sun.

"How old are ya, boy?"

Cloud starts.

"Huh?"

"Deaf too, yeah? How old are ya?"

"Um..." It felt like the time to lie. "Nineteen."

He takes another bite and watches the man.

The glow of the flame reflects off his face and glares in his eyes. He can see the wheels turning. It goes without saying he's nervous. He swallows thickly, finished with the stomach filler. Beyond the size and the brawn and the scar cut into his lip, he looks like he would be a nice man. Cloud just can't get beyond the size and the brawn and the scar (of which he notices has friends) the longer he stares. One line traces along his eyebrow, going with the arch, another marching over his forehead, one hiding behind his ear, and more still pattern his face. He looks like the scavenger type, the lone wolf. _What does he want with me?_

"Hah! Look about twelve tah me. Thirsty? Didn't see ya take a drink once since we picked ya up back in, uh, what—"

"Nibelheim."

"Yup, that place. Don't like that place myself, too cold for my blood."

"Yeah," Cloud says, eyeing the offered canteen.

"Take it. Not goin' to poison ya. I only poison _da rats_."

Cloud doesn't make any motion to grab it. He can feel his hands beginning to sweat, can feel his heart thudding dully inside his ribs, can feel the weight of the blackness above. Hundreds of pin-head silver stars and they're all laughing and shifting and sneering. What a sudden contrast, perversion, from his sliver at home.

"Yer smarter than ya look ya know, but ya ain't got to be 'fraid of me. _'Specially_ me. Just don't know who I am, is all."

"Who are you?"

"I run this joint, or _jaunt_, hah, and my handle's _Saur_.... Though that's not my real name, if ya know what I mean."

"Soar?"

"You bet. Like the birds."

Cloud grows quiet. The man drinks from the canteen and offers it once more. Cloud refuses.

"Yer gonna be one tough nut to crack," the man says, voice inching into satire.

And then he's gone. Cloud stares on for seconds, tongue sucking the ends of his teeth, drawing on the moisture, mind working. _Is it true what he said? Could he be the caravan leader?_ He hadn't noticed who was at the front of the group, who had been giving orders, so it could be true. It's better to stay safe than sorry, as they say. As he comes back into his surroundings it's the little girl's face he's aimed at, again. A beautiful little face, an innocent little face—he has to turn away, rubbing his crumby hands on his slacks. He hadn't noticed how numb his fingers were getting. _It could be a lie though. It could be a show._ He rubs his palms together. _He might want to jump you and kill you and throw your body to the jackals. He could be a killer. Steal every penny of your mother's money. He'll_—

A voice picks up.

"Oi, up! C'mon now. Move in, move in."

Groups of people stand and begin going toward the command, crowding around the fire pit. Cloud sits where he's at several yards back, watching all this from his jerry-rigged chair. He doesn't get the peace long though before he's shoved from behind. He leans wholly forward over his knees, caught off guard. Feels it wouldn't have mattered either way. Might be a "farm boy" but he's built like a twig. Been a push over all his short life.

"C'mon then!"

A boy, around his age, stands over him, face like the tanned hide of an animal, resolve clear cut. He shoves him again. He's pointing a finger toward the larger, and still growing, throng around the pit. Cloud follows that finger and then stands, ignoring the boy (who yells on, jabbing an unkind finger into the back of another) and meanders toward the crowd, pack dangling from his arm.

_"Get close now. Don't want anyone left out in the chill. Don't want no one eaten up by the baddies."_

Children gasp and whine _mommy, mommy_; shushing and soft words ensue. Cloud looks on, row after row after row of bodies bedding down and snugging in to fight the freeze of sun down. He can already feel the nip coming into the air. All the wind comes down through here, no trees or rocks or hill sides to divert or buffer it. The planes, he's heard, are the safest from monsters, from ambush, because you can see anything coming, but at night, people wandering off to relieve themselves or to think their own thoughts.... He doesn't know where to go. As he steps he's avoiding hands, fingers, arms, legs. As he steps, he's getting closer to the voice yelling for everyone to _get nice and close, aye_. Soon enough he's standing right at the fire, center of the blanket of people, and that voice gains a face and limbs and it's Saur.

"Boy! Come back so soon?"

Cloud just stands and looks. A man comes up to Saur then, leaning close to confide words, cutting Cloud off before he could even start. The man finishes and gestures, making a circular motion with his arms and nodding his head. Saur nods in return, patting the man on the shoulder, now looking down to Cloud. His smile draws across his entire face, ear to ear, as if some terrible plan has come to fruition. Cloud might have shrunk away if he wasn't already hunched from the hike.

"Everyone's snug. Come with me."

"Wait a minute," Cloud says, voice thin.

"No time to waste, kid. I know yer type. _Soldier boy_, huh? Ya look about as meek as a kitten. Funny place we live in. Funny time, anyway. There's that word again...."

"_What?_"

"I'm sayin' ya need some experience. There will be terrible things comin' by here durin' the night hours and I plan on killin' anyone's dumb enough to disturb my jaunt."

"I don't have a weapon."

"All's the better. Come."

He takes Cloud's pack and sets it near the rock ring formed around the fire. Cloud's mouth works but he says nothing. It's safe from the biting flames but not from the sparks that jump and dance out, slipping and flickering off it's smooth leather. They fade just before they can char in. Saur regards this and points to a nearby man. _Watch this_, he says, and the man nods. He is what he said he was. Cloud can feel his nerves returning. His stomach aches, his fingers twitch, the back of his throat itches. It's an itch he doesn't want to scratch. Him and his stupid dream. He's already going cross-country to join an organization, to gain some honour, to obtain that dream, how much worse can sauntering into the darkness with a strange man be? He wants his dream more.

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Time moves silently. They're sat far enough from the fire not to feel its heat, the embers there smoldering and catching in the wind, the constant shift of gusts causing turmoil. It would have gone out if not for the men keeping it stoked. They throw in grass and dry shrubs (the only source of fuel out here) every so many minutes. Cloud watches that, Saur not having said much from that point to this. They sit. The Moon draws up the sky, riding an ancient course, and still nothing happens. Cloud wishes for a jacket. He has one, sure, but it's just thick enough to cut the chill, not the bite from the blustering breath. Nibelheim might have been cold but it had never been a windy place. You had to get higher up in the mountains to get more draft and wind effects. Thanks to the reactor and the increased population his dress is higher quality, of tougher materials, but it was still home-spun and sparse. He shivers. His eyes have adjusted enough to see out into the nothingness. A man, he noticed, is sitting on point out there, crouched low to the ground but not quite sitting. A pole or spear protrudes from his back. There's another man out there as well, he heard the two talking earlier. Rumours of the darkness, rumours in the mist. Saur's face is a blank mask when he checks, just a toss of his head to the side, just long enough to gauge.

"Twitchy?"

"I guess."

"Yer not gonna cut an imposing figure if ya don't grow a skin."

"What do you mean?"

"Ya need tah toughen up."

There's a rustle to their left. Saur ignores it, Cloud shifts a scrutinizing eye over, peering into the dark. His breath has caught somewhere in his lungs, not even reaching his throat to choke. A lizard skitters across the dirt.

"Our boys won't be a little rustle, don' worry."

"I'm not sure..."

"Now that's not the type of attitude they'll be lookin' for! Ya said you were _nineteen _, right? You're not a big boy, let me tell ya, but you've got the look. How many more with yer dream, yer own aspiration? So many. Gotta stick out, get noticed." His voice comes as a dry rattle, the whisper more of a grate than a suppressant. Cloud shifts, dirt dusting off on his palms and the knees of his already torn slacks. He's starting to get stiff, tired. If this was what he had to look forward to at Shinra it didn't seem so bad, but then again, Saur had a nice, kind edge to him. The sternness in his voice almost always subdued by the lilt of good humour. He liked the boy. Cloud got the feeling. Shinra soldiers wouldn't carry the same sentiment. It would be drills and training and cold metal, cruel instructors, hard faces. He was right. He was going to have to buck up if he wanted to ride.

"I'm seventeen."

"Huh?"

"Seventeen. I lied."

"I hate tah say it, but I guessed that."

"Oh."

"Just lucky they like young minds."

A shift in the wind. Cloud's hair goes whipping to the side, obscuring his view. He twitches back and flicks his head, a grimace parting his mouth. The fire in the distance gutters and bends, as if fearful, and then calms. Silence. An eerie, thick sense of space, sense of nothing, the air buzzing with it. Nerves and warm breathe then audible. He can feel the men moving in, scurrying across the weedy grass to come closer, to close ranks. Saur begins to stand, looking out there, out beyond. A rumble carries, the wind withering its effect, turning it into a spooky drawl.

"An' I was beginning to think ya was good luck, kid."

A distortion in the shadows beyond, a deeper darkness against the midnight. It's something, Cloud can see, loping forward. Something coming to get them. Cloud has seen monsters, little ones, some as big as a cow even, but nothing wild and free and craving. He gets a higher sense of things—the wind, the dusting of grit against his smooth cheek; he can taste the rain on the air and he can smell the beast, wet fur a musky sort of waft, and the sprinkling of something metallic, something coppery under that. Blood. Saur reaches to his huge slab of a leather belt where a gun holster extends, as creased and solid as its owner's face, and produces a pistol. It shines, fire light playing down the extensive barrel. Saur spins the cylinder via a single finger, it whirs. Comical maybe, but it's for a reason—the thing looks older than the hills themselves. The overall finish a matte grey, the handle grimy and greasy; the barrel itself pitted and oddly angled. It looked now like it might not even fire, but Cloud held out hope, eyes drawn from Saur's spectacle then to the thing growing larger on the move. Saur's men have armed themselves, standing ready at either side.

"It might not even notice us," one of the men said.

"Hush," was Saur's response.

A growl comes, crisp. That's about the time Cloud feels like running. It flashes into his mind, brief (it's all he needs), and he nearly goes, legs posed, aching with the sense memory, aching for the motion, but he can't bring himself to. He hardens himself instead, clenching both hands into tight lumps of nails and skin and stands on, stalwart with Saur and his men. This was important. People need them, and if they needed Cloud too, he'd try his damnedest.


	12. missing chapters: 2a

**the missing chapters  
_they'll burn your hearts away_**  
_ff7 semi-au, cloud/zack  
by lilnee_

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**2.a**  
The rain starts sometime around then, almost sneaking up on them. The wave of drizzle a chilling wake-up call and then the sudden down pour a screen to cut off their view of the planes. It had spotted them, Cloud knew that much (if he knew anything at all). Saur knew it as well and turned his lips down into a sneer, teeth cutting a sharp pain in his jaw, the mashing press making every tooth an electric twinge. Cloud had a thought in that moment, just before the beast-thing crossed the line of black into orangy-red fire light. That thought was about Tifa. Tifa. More of an emotion though, to be exact, and it might be of regret—a tickling, slight hint of regret—because she never knew how he felt about her. He loved her.

Lightning cracks.

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Cloud opens his eyes to see grey—no, _blue_—the sky, and morning glare. The grey is the few wispy clouds hanging around, moving along; the last curls of storm cloud. The picture shifts and blurs, comprehension loosening. He feels a churning twist in his guts, the pull enough to draw his limbs in around his middle. Something happened before but he doesn't remember and he isn't sure he wants to just yet. The heat of the Sun is blasting a fevered line into his skin and he can hardly stand it, so he tries to move, so he tries to hide. He rolls to his side, innards grinding and agonizing and he starts to claw up a fist full of dirt to gain any leverage just to stand. There's a rush in his ears, wobbling kaleidoscope vision, instant nauseam.

"Hey, hey, take it easy." The voice is distorted and hard to distinguish from good friend or stranger. There's the whiff of gun smoke then a sour taste of, thick saliva.

"Don't go movin' too much now. Ya ain't got the strength."

He's not so much pushed down as he is slowly levered down, the cushion under his head damp and warm. He must be sweating, his blood feels volcanic, ionized. His skin taut, his throat swollen.

"Am I sick?" he tries, voice a chalky gasp.

"Yuh," the voice provides, and it's not a voice Cloud knows. The face above him is softer and even, a young face. Fingers push through the hair matted over his eyes and smashed to his temples. They push the mess aside and he can see better now, the blue sky above bearing down, unforgiving in its offensive brightness. No more stars laughing and spinning and sneering, just the new day. Cloud swallows, throat struggling on a lump there. He breathes slowly, evenly, trying to calm the tearing, the wrenching. If he's going to die he wishes it would be done with already. No more teasing flirts and half-hearted seductions.

"...Poison...going...."

Cards shuffling. This is kind of what it feels like, or a sudden shake, a shift in angle, perception. He closes his eyes, hoping to re-focus and see more clearly, to catalogue the new face and the world around him and steady his core but he drifts off instead—shuffle and draw—the moment from before bleeding into the next, becoming unified, one.

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"Sir...."

Pressure on his forehead, a cloth or a hand or whatever else, he really can't be bothered, too many other sensations flitting around (the rumble in his shoulders, the itch against his arms and neck, the smell of the air heated and different, tainted by illness), he just knows he's back to the surface. He can feel that he's moving, not all at once, but it comes sluggish, with the sense of dull knives stabbing at his guts. His head lolls with the roll and the jerk, straw poking his cheek. Straw. His stomach tightens in this new understanding. He's been put on the back of the cart, laid out like a slain animal.

"Oi, boy. How we doin?" He knows that voice. His only source of comfort, safety, warmth, and strength out here and he wants it all. Wants to inspire and produce those feelings in others. Wants the title. He wouldn't have known where to start, but then there's the colourful and vibrant and _oh so_ promising images of Shinra, Midgar—images of red banners with gold in-lay; images of marching men, thousands long. Images of grinning, sharp-tongued generals and lieutenants, images of _hope_. It's all relevant, it's not at all too far off and it's not at all too close.

"What happened?" Words steadier in essence, but still quiet and thin.

"Well," Saur heaves himself into the hay, leaning against the low slatted walls keeping everything where it is, and continues—"Poison's the short of it, the long version's for when yer up and shining again. Ya look a bit dim."

_Dim_. That was a word for it. Cloud twitches, a sudden jolt, panic, and hobbles up. He leans over what he hopes is the edge of the cart, his stomach cutting loose, letting it all go just in that moment. It feels like throwing up super-heated glass or angry red coals. An acidic waft tracks up his nose.

"Whoa."

An arm on his shoulder then. He shudders and spits, getting the flavour out, wanting it gone, resigning to the fact that it won't be. Not yet. He's pulled back, dizzy, the world turning inside out. Poison. More stories for that one, more words from the wrong lips, words from a mouth only there in rumour. A child died in their village from some sort of poison or other. This was way back before Cloud, before even his mother, and before the reactor. This boy had apparently been stung (by _what_ always varied, as word of mouth usually has a way of degrading the story) and never recovered. He lapsed into fevered fits, cold sweats, vertigo dreams, and then finally just withered away and was dead. The kids of his childhood told him he was buried under Shinra Mansion, in the basement, where the earth was soft. No one knew for sure and no one ever asked. Another myth with due value.

"We're a day or two out of Costa."

"Hmm." The last of what he can muster, his tongue heavy.

As Saur reclines, having put Cloud back down, the hay sweet and soft, he looks grave, tired, like Cloud hasn't seen him before. Known the man for less than a day and he's already assuming emotions and traits on him. He looks pale, almost see-through, vague. Cloud might have felt worse for noticing so late, but he couldn't be blamed, even now as he's looking nothing's static: Saur's face is split with new cuts, bruises, and a lone white bandage crawls along his throat, dabbed with just the first drops of fresh blood. Something went terribly wrong.

"I lost a man today."

Cloud listens.

"It came into the camp fighting, ya know. Wasn't too surprised, but never seen one quite like that: sort of twisted in a way, wrong. If I had known sooner... ya know, _maybe_, but ya can't live in maybes. Thas' sure as shit fer fools. Ya were out of my sight almost immediately. I started firing, but my damned gun locked up. Rain didn't help. Couldn't reload by the time..."

He stops.

Maybe he was second guessing himself, or rubbing a tear away, or clenching his fists, Cloud couldn't really see. He imagined he was stiff and sure, eyes haunted, lips tight, like a real hero. The rain had been a sheet, literally, it had blanketed the entire field, as far as the eye could tell. Lightning split the darkness, cleaving it clear for all of a single blink. That's the only shot Cloud can bring to the surface, the rest a smear of blurred actions. A roar here, a scream there, the flash of bone-white electricity, the shock of reddish and black dirt.

"Torri yelled and was gone, the rain fell on, and still I couldn' see ah thing. Not where the creature began an' the darkness ended, not even my own hand in front of mah face. It left though, for whatever reason, just as I was loaded. Happy with its catch, I'd venture. We found ya not too long after that, face down in the mud, cold as ice. Been fightin' with it ever since then, boy. Thought the fever got the best of ya a few times, but ya always pulled through. Tough as nails, ah guess. Let no one ever say Nibelheim breeds 'em weak. _Small_ maybe, hah."

"I'm sorry." Regret now for a whole new reason.

"_Shit_—pardon me—but ya ain't got nothin' to be sorry about."

He looks right at him then, not an emotion clear on his features, no hint, nothing. Cloud wonders.

"I'll wake ya when we're there, yeah? Get to see the beaches, have a drink."

Saur leaves, bounding out of the back of the cart like a spry little boy. He waves an arm back. Cloud sleeps for hours, stomach having settled into an empty ache. Night falls, his nerves smoothed with it, his fever all but gone and waving good bye. It breaks and is done sometime after the Moon trades its place with the Sun, the conflicted flare of chills and flames and sore muscles the worst of it, but his body turns the evil away, leaving him drained and frail but alive. He doesn't lose his lunch again throughout the next day and thanks goodness, because folks in the group who were concerned feed him whatever they have, medicine or food. He's grateful. Silent and grateful, eyes never leaving their faces as they come up to him. A child, a woman, a mother, a son. Too many to count. They bring with them bread and concoctions, teas and meats. It's been four days, he's told (slept most of them away), and the best is yet to come. Midgar is now only an ocean away.

_._

_._

_He can taste the rain on the air, cold and wet and salty. He can also smell the sweat of every human body behind him and the men just ahead, holding their points and looking into the nothingness, ready for death. Just beyond, just around the bend, Cloud guesses, is something he doesn't want to see. He doesn't think he's ready for it (oh no, all this talk, all this banter of bravery and fame—his guts are telling him shag ass, get out, for God's sake, run). The bleak, dark eyes of a killer. The scaled, dry skin of a leathery beasty. The sharp, chewed-up claws of a hunter. This is a dream, he knows, but the anxiety, it's lurking, crawling under his damp skin, churning up real fear now. Saur, dream-Saur, steps forward, putting an arm out to Cloud's chest, putting his hand right in the very middle, holding him back or keeping him sure. The connection startles Cloud and he looks away for that moment, affording their friend in the shadows enough time to rear up and strike out. It's not even a well-aimed thing, not even a death blow, but Cloud is knocked back all the same. His mind's eye watches as he goes cartwheeling into the mud, caking up the wound drawn down his side and his hair and his clothes. He comes to a stop and the thunder claps._

_Universal applause._

_Lightning glitters, shivers and is gone._

_Universal flash photography._

He wakes up slowly.

Midday. Sunlight glares off the wet, smooth rise of ocean waves.


	13. missing chapters: 3a

**the missing chapters  
they'll burn your hearts away**  
_ff7 semi-au, cloud/zack  
by lilnee_

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**3.a**  
_Morning: 9:15am._

It's to a baked dry new world he's invited. The air here is a foreign mix of freshness and the over-powering flavour of sea weed, and maybe something else, something older and a little sour. The sharp yellow glare of a knife-edge beach extends from the busy port and on still to nowhere, going out as far as the planet curves. People swarm here, clad in bathing suits, flowery shorts and shirts. Silky, not-there dresses shimmer and wave like flags, like the ocean roll. Their hands clutch drinks, cigarettes, shopping bags. They're holding hands or kissing, talking, laughing. The taste of this place is a little too much to swallow all at once. Cloud at least has the time to sit and soak it in. He's spent a full night in the inn and this is his first new lucid day. His room is set back from the entrance to the little inn, away from the streets and the immediate noise. He vies to look, leaning hard on the sill.

A strange new place. Maybe he is this fascinated or he's watching because he doesn't want to think back on more shady moments. Buzzing thoughts don't die either way, and boredom is just the same. Last night he found a new scar fanning out from his throat and going down over his collarbone. Two more followed in line, stopping just short of the mark before. No wonder he didn't notice them before, they were just out of his view. He had touched a hand on it as he lay like an invalid, bundled in rented blankets, on a rented mattress, in a rented room. The freshness, the soft pink delicacy... it irks him still. How it stretched and moved as he did, mimicking, mocking. He felt it with his fingers, just the very tips, and a black pain had pressed in on him. Wariness rested its hands on his head, the touch cold.

Another item for the subject of _what not to think about_. It's probably why Saur tells him as often as he can to _look ahead_. He missed the entire trek from Nibelheim; across a land he only knows from rumours and stories and a lengthy young imagination (the rolling hills, the sun rises, the _fun runners_). He must have slept longer than four days. He must have been worse than they'd let him know.

"No wonder ya like it. People come here to _vacate_, ya know: _get away_."

Saur's saying this as he comes into the room. Cloud turns to look. His hair, the longest its been in all his short years, catches and claws at his eyes. He pushes it aside and looks out the window again, not missing a beat. He'd have to get a hair cut before Shinra. A tanned woman (bronzed to a point) sashays by, her red dress spattered with the tropical flowers you would find here. The colour contrast stunning, awing. Saur comes up to look as well, whistling at the one that got away. He's on one of his daily visits. Having latched on to Cloud like a mothering hen, he found this necessary.

"It's the people, I think..." Cloud starts. The words are slow to form.

Saur grows quiet, maybe taken aback by the fact Cloud's chosen to talk at all.

"They're all so different."

"Sure, sure. Why do you think I like this caravan business? The money? _Hah_! Nah. I get to come here, go there, talk my talk, walk my walk. And people _listen_ to me. Ya think I'd be just as well in Midgar? Fuck it all, no. Son, the only thing that place is good for is what you're goin' for, and that's even so—more fuel for the fire. They're up to something, I think. Shinra, I mean. Up to no good."

"I don't know..."

"'Course ya wouldn't. You're still young."

Saur steps away from the window and stuffs his hands into his pockets, deep and rooted-out from years of use and long nights on hard earth. For being such a large man, for being so commanding and strangely wise, he has a sense of childish unease about him as well. The scars on his face were proportional to his hidden scars. Cloud gets a sense of this, a tingling in the air, a heaviness, and changes his gaze from the women and the umbrellas and the laughing faces to Saur's bent figure. The ultimatum is unsettling. A frown works its way out.

"You've got to learn all you can while you've still got the chance."

Saur is stepping towards to door.

"Heading out today, kid. I'll see you some other time." He turns around, and says: "I'll see you on TV, or somethin'. SOLDIER and all that, they love showin' off their goodies."

He shakes Cloud's hand. A firm thing. A sad thing. And then he's gone.

As the door clicks (ca-_chink_) closed, Cloud's looking down into his hand and what's been left there. A hooked thing, bleached as Costa's sand. It takes a moment for it to register, but it finally does. _It's a tooth, isn't it? That's what it is._ A frown works into a grimace, works into a deep scowl. It's not out of anger, no. It feels like sorrow. A fang from the beast. He makes a fist around it. Your weakness always has a way of laughing right in your face, doesn't it? It'll have a way of choosing people you admire the most to make you feel the worst. It cuts, it stings, but he balls that fist and takes the sharp bite. He puts the thing into his pack and doesn't promise, he _hopes_ it stays with him always. Promises are regrettable, he should know.

The next day he leaves the hotel.

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_Noon: 12:34pm._

It's not a cruise liner, but it'll get him to where he needs to go. About as pretty to look at as a canned ham, about as delicate in design as home surgery. Sheets of metal slapped together cover the nose and sides of this behemoth, layered over years of damage and shoddy repair. The very prow is squat and crooked, looking less tough than a tin can. On the far side, near the stern of the thing, a word is printed (red paint flaking and rusted): GLENDA, it reads. This is the unofficial ferry to Midgar.

Cloud looks on.

Men working on the docks yell to each over, back and forth, voices the bellow of honking walruses. This constant raucous stirs up the gulls swooping and wheeling near, their screams mingle with that of the men's and it carries on the wind, killing some of the beach calm (splintering all the aforementioned good spirits Cloud once had). Getting on the boat might be the hardest thing yet. Even more than Saur's monster, and leaving his mother, and leaving Tifa, and Nibelheim, and his own little tired existence as a shriveled, spineless nobody.

He stands for a long while, taking in every strange accent and the slurred speech of the ship hands (ship rats, they're called) and smelling the thicker, more solid salty sea air. He's closer to the open water here. Where he should even start, he doesn't know. Everyone has the wrinkled-up look of vacuum sealed goods, the red sunburn kissed faces, the toned arms (perfected by the lifestyle) and the mouth, you guessed it, of a sailor. Cloud's hesitation is his savour.

A man walks by, nudging him as he goes. Cloud's not startled but he does step to the side, transferring all his weight to one leg. The man is dressed plainly, badly even (ragged and dirty, hair tossed, shoes torn). He looks from side to side and then up to one of the men working on _Glenda_'s deck.

"_Oi_," he yells.

A man aboard hears this and looks down.

"_Oi_," he yells back.

"I'm looking to get to Midgar. Who runs this dumper?" asks the man.

The boatman scoffs and rocks back on his heels, now grabbing the low steel railing and swinging his head low to see closer, eyes bulging. He's mad. Cloud shifts where he stands.

"Shit outta luck, my friend. Go look under your ma's skirt!"

The raggedy man wave's a dismissive hand and walks on, farther down the docks. Cloud waits a moment, _tick, tick, tick_, and then trails behind. Curious, hopeful—_lost_, really. Down they go, just a few feet, and there's a freighter and a civilian sailboat, but that's all she wrote. A woman sunbathes there on the sailboat's nose. The towel under her curved behind is hot pink, blinding. She cocks her head, sun glasses an oily sheen, and she smiles. Lips tight, teeth a perfect line; it's shark-like. This is what gets him, gets under Cloud's skin, so he doesn't react in time to avoid facing the man as he turns around, eyes settling dead on. They're grey and sharp and hard as stone. His face is a thin, dry thing. It cracks in a snarl as he opens his mouth to bite something out.

"The fuck you lookin' at?"

"Nothing," Cloud croaks.

The man starts forward, leading with his upper body. It's a sort of swaggering, aggressive step, as if he wants to have at Cloud, but he's stopped. The sea rat from Glenda is whistling and waving his arms towards them from up the planks. Cloud and the man perk as if on cue and let themselves be lead over. A means to an end. The man follows behind Cloud and then steps ahead, asserting his possessiveness of the information. Disdain rises in Cloud's gut. This guy is starting to reek of trouble.

The sea rat giggles, delighted by their obedience.

"You can come aboard on _three_ conditions..."

The pause in his words he lengthens by smiling his own twisted smile, razor sharp.

"Stay outta the way, pay—_up front_—400 gil, and share your _friend_."

He points, and his exceptionally long fingers are alarming.

Cloud jerks back as if struck.

He's pointing to him.

The raggedy man tries a glance at Cloud, half-hearted, and sets his jaw.

He asks, "You got 200 gil?"

Cloud nods slowly.

"Fine," he says up to the boatman.

And the next moment they're both aboard Glenda.

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_Noon: 12:50pm._

The raggedy man pulls him along, hand fully buried into Cloud's forearm. The boat is crowded and damp and entirely too small inside for the hulking mass shown outside. Cloud scoots along walls and knocks shoulders with people as he's dragged along. He leads him into an open-air room—the cargo bay, he guesses—and is pushed down on a crate. The thing deflates like a loaf of bread as he does.

"You. Stay here."

"O-okay," Cloud rattles.

"Fresh as a fuckin' daisy," the raggedy man remarks.

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_Afternoon: 1:41pm._

As long as he stays where he is he'll be safe. It isn't said so much as it is implied. You can look from side to side and see the slightly distressed faces of the people around you. Some small children crying, some staring out at the world with wide, dead eyes. All (or most, it seemed) victims of a war somewhere far off. He gets a sense of this from their torn luggage and shredded clothing. He gets a sense of this from their desperate clinging to one another. They heard something, something on the wind, on a stranger's lips, and it was that Shinra pledged to rid them of terror and plight. So they came in flocks however they could—families, the few lone travelers, Cloud. They're all cargo, a pay load now. And as if to validate the fact, men of the boat poke and prod and question them. Thin fingers dig into soft flesh, faces push into your own. If you're ill or dead or crazy, they want to find you so they can deal with you. They don't want disease, they can't have something spreading, and they don't need hysteria.

They set sail without much to-do. Been on their way towards that shining glimmer ever since. It wasn't long until the raggedy man found Cloud again. He opted for his 200 gil and then was gone for good. He had fronted the money as they were being admitted on the boat. He slapped the gil into the greasy palm of the ship rat's hand, coins _ting_ing. Those eyes, they shined with yellow-rimmed delight, like boiled eggs. Cloud had been uneasy as he waited and watched, but his face betrayed him not. It had stayed cool and calm and untouched.

Cloud never sees the likes of the man again. He never knows why he was going to Midgar or what his name was. Some sort of curious speculation, no real care involved. Parting with the gil had been reluctant work but he still had _just_ enough afterward. Everything counted. Every little bit.

He hunches up now to stay warm. Still hours to go.

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_Night fall: 10:21pm._

The night goes on, rather calm as slow breathing and muted voices drift. In the cargo bay you can hear everything, there isn't much to dampen the echo off the steel walls. As Cloud keeps to himself he thinks of Tifa (brown hair, eyes, a bright smile and that damn cowboy hat), Nibelheim (small, quiet, filled with sour memories), Shinra (strength, honor, and a promise), and almost falls asleep. It's maybe eight or nine hours after embarking (intermittent with the boatman's little visits and his own nodding off) when a call comes from above. The air sterile afterward: no engine noise, no crushing ocean swells. A red-faced man, thin as a wire, comes staggering into this quasi-showroom and starts ushering the lot of them out. It's a hazy midnight blue when Cloud sees the sky. He follows the group down a wooden plank and onto the dock. It's more sturdily engineered than Costa Del Sol's, metal clanking under his shoe as he steps. He can feel his legs wanting to give out, to drop him on his ass.

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_Night fall: 11:18pm._

In this new caravan they enter the city after a long walk over difficult terrain. The elaborate dock they leave behind, unwilling to waist anymore time, unwilling to let one more day of worry and hunger and strife pass. Sand gives way to sparse grass, gives way to dirt, then desert and now to swirling winds. Cloud's legs woke up unwillingly, just as the darkness deepens and flattens on the land. He's eaten all his supplies and exhausted his body. It's at that time, during a short pause and with the beginnings of delirium, that he sees Midgar for the first time. And it's all worth it. Every second. Every bleak minute. It's greenish there on the horizon, just barely hidden by the elevated, swelling hills. Shinra Tower, the city's very tallest point, gleams red.


End file.
